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Copy 1 



THE 



STOLEN WILL 



A COMEDY. DRAM A^ 



IN THREE ACTS. 



BY LEST ELLSWOETH TILDEN. "INK." 



Respectfully dedicated, by the Author, to the Marlborough 

Dramatic Club, who successfully presented it 

the first time it was produced, at 

Marlborough, N. H., 

May 20,1881. 



S"y:n"o:psis. 



A Description of the Costumes. Cast of Characters. En- 
trances and Exits. Properties. Stage 
Directions. 



MARLBORO', N. H. : 
PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR. 

1881. 



THE 



STOLEN WILL 



A COMEDY DRAMA, 



IN THREE ACTS. 



BY LEN ELLSWORTH TILDEN, "INK." 



Respectfully dedicated, by the Author, to the Marlborough 

Dramatic Club, who successfully presented it 

the first time it was produced, at 

Marlborough, N. H., 

May 20,1881. 



iH 



5 



SYNOPSIS. 



A Description of the Costumes. Cast of Characters. En- 
trances and Exits. Properties. Stage 
Directions. 



. 



MARLBORO', N. H. : 
PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR. 

1881. 



P5 3D&S 



Entered according to act of Congress in the year 1881, by 

LEN ELLSWORTH TILDEN, 

In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. 



Two copies of this work are lodged with the Librarian of Con- 
gress, at Washington, and any person or persons using it or any 
part of it will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. 



H-Wff 



CAST OF CHARACTERS. 

The cast is here given with the names of those who were 
first cast to present the play. 

CORONER, an old Magistrate , JAIRUS COLLINS 

CHIP WINKLE, Esq., a long, lank, country Boy FRED. E. McINTYRE 

Master MARKEY LOKER, an overgrown Booby GEO. K. HARRINGTON 

GEO. JAMESON, a Villain FRANK H. McINTYRE 

AMOS WENLEY, an old Farmer ) 

DEACON CUFF, Deacon of the Orthodox Church, and [ FRANK H. PEASLEE 

President of the town Reform Club ) 

Hon. EDWARD ENWRIGHT, a Foreign Traveller CLINTON COLLINS 

TOMMY SAUNDERS, smart and saucy EDDIE M. TENNEY 

POLICE, an Officer that takes care of Children HARRY CLARK 

FOOTMAN, one of Old England's class HARRY A. TENNEY 

SHERIFF, an Officer with a Badge ) ttt?att?v t T*T?vAT*rT> 

COP, one of the finest Police in the world ] ^^ nx ^ ±SK * AJN l 

VIOLA WENLEY, a Child of Adoption Miss FLORA M. BLODGETT 

SARAH LOKER, a Society Belle Miss MINNIE BARKER 

MADAM LOKER, a Lady of the Period. Miss LILLA M. KNOWLTON 

LITTLE CORA, an only Child Miss BELLE TENNEY 

BETSEY SMITH, a bold, bad Woman Mrs. CARRIE L. FITCH 

KATHLEEN, a Nurse Girl Miss MAY TENNEY 

Citizens, Firemen, Newsboy and Constable by Members of the Club. 
Master Marky Loker and the Police, an officer who takes care of children, are 
burlesque characters. The former must be played by as large a person as. can be 
got, and the latter by a very small boy. 



ACT I. — Viola's arrival home from school. Tells about a 
dark featured man. Appearance of Chip Winkle, Esq., who's 
right from Wildland. Betsey Smith saj 7 s he's a fool. Chip 
agrees with her. Amos Wenley concludes to keep him and 
he is bound out to him until he is of age. George Jameson 
demands his daughter. Murder of Amos Wenley. Betsey 
Smith steals the will. The coroner takes charge of W r enley 
Farm. Chip is disgusted with things. Betsey Smith turns 
Viola out of house and home. Farewell scene between Viola 
and Chip. Tommy Saunders and Chip talk the matter over. 
Chip sees Betsey Smith have the stolen will and steals it from 
her. Deacon Cuff and Betse}~ are excited. Potato bugs and 
whiskey. The Deacon and Betsey go to town. Chip Winkle, 
Esq., is bound for New York with the stolen will. " Good 
bye until Viola is found."' 

ACT II. — Madam Loker and daughter talk about George 
Jameson and the Hon. Edward Enwright. Arrival of Viola, 
who is engaged as governess. Dr. Merriam says that Marky 
is prematurely developed mentally. Marky cries because 



Kathleen won't rock him. Appearance of Jameson. Mark}' 
talks French. School room scene. Viola drills the pupils. 
Cora and Marky speak a piece. Chip's arrival in New York. 
" Mighty big town, New York." Chip has an adventure 
with a Cop. k ' That thing in your mouth is red-hot and smoke 
is pouring right out of you! " Viola, Cora and Mark} 7 out 
walking. Mark}' gets lost. Chip gets on track of Viola. 
Madam is worried because Cora takes to the governess so. 
Sarah laughs at Madam's fears. Arrival of Enwright from 
Europe. Cora tells about the governess. Enwright's ac- 
count of his foreign tour. Madam thinks he is somewhat 
changed. Sarah agrees with madam. " Beaut}' will never 
win him." Meeting of Enwright and Viola. Marky gives 
Madam away bad. Jameson alone in the parlor of the Loker 
mansion. Chip blunders in, searching for Viola. Chip tells 
about the stolen will. Jameson says that he is Viola's friend 
and will keep the will until her return, so it will not get lost. 
Chip finally consents to it and leaves. Jameson kidnaps 
Viola and Cora. " Now for a fortune." Chip is disgusted 
with New Y^ork. He cannot find Viola or Jameson. Gets 
an old paper stuck on to him by a newsboy. Reads that Viola 
has stolen little Cora, as it's supposed. Gets mad. Meets 
Enwright. Gets track of Jameson. Enwright looking for Chip. 
ACT III. — Cora and Viola in prison. Jameson enters and 
tells them why they, are locked up. " It's for money, yes, 
money." Jameson produces the stolen will. k ' It's father's 
will, willing his property to me, his adopted daughter." 
Jameson proves that he is Viola's father. Jameson and 
Chip up in New Hampshire. Jameson is drunk. Chip gets 
the will. Fire ! fire ! fire ! The Deacon and Betsey. Pop- 
ping the question. Old Maccaboy raises the old boy. 
Enwright, Viola, Cora and Chip at Wenley farm. Betsey 
is scared. " The Lord save us ! It's Viola and Chip." Chip 
produces the stolen will. "I stole it back from Jame- 
son." Betsey is going to kill herself. Chip thinks her 
funeral procession will not be very long. Death of Jame- 
son. Enwright announces the engagement of himself 
and Viola. " Well, I'll be gol darned. Who would have 
thought all this would have happened just because of the 
k Stolen Will '." 



COSTUMES. 

Coroner Collins. Act i. Scene 1 : Swallow-tail coat, old 
fashioned tall hat, cane and glasses ; rest of suit to cor- 
respond. 

Chip Winkle, Esq. Act i. Scenes 1, 2 and 3: Ragged 
pants, strapped up by one gallows ; checked shirt, old 
straw hat ; barefoot, one toe done up with rag ; long 
light-haired wig. Act n. Scene 3. Act hi. Scenes 2, 3 
and 4 : Short waisted coat, short legged pants, an old 
stiff hat, large shoes, red handkerchief around neck. 
Wig as in Act i. 

Master Marky Loker. Act ii. Scenes 1 and 2 : Knee 
pants cut long waisted, frock cut short waisted, ruffle 
around throat, copper- toed shoes. Act ii. Scene 3 : 
The same as in the two above scenes, excepting the 
addition of a small straw hat. 

George Jameson. Act i. Scene 1 : Show}* walking suit. 
Act n. Scenes 1, 2 and 4 : Dress suit. Act in. Scene 
1 : Light gray suit, slouch hat, low necked sailor's shirt, 
pants tucked into high legged boots. Act in. Scene 2 : 
Traveling suit. Act in. Scene 4 : Pants and vest ; 
bareheaded ; appearances indicating that he has been 
through a fire. 

Amos Wenley. Act i. Scene 1 : Homespun suit of gray, 
straw hat, bald headed wig. 

Deacon Cuff. Act i. Scene 3 : Act in. Scenes 3 and 4 : 
Linen duster, checked vest, black pants, tall hat, stand- 
ing collar, with black necktie, large red. handkerchief, 
gray haired wig. 

Hon. Edward Enwright. Act ii. Scene 4 : Act in. Scenes 
2, 3 and 4 : Fashionable traveling suit and cane. 

Tommy Saunders. Act 1. Scene 2 : Boy's suit, home-made ; 

straw hat. 
Newsboy. Act in. Scene 2 : Ragged rig ; barefooted. 
Police. Act n. Scene 3 : Policeman's suit and badge. 
Footman. Act in. Scenes 1 and 4 : Long dress coat of 

black, pants of same color, white vest and gloves, large 

watch chain, standing collar, red necktie. 
Sheriff. Act in. Scene 4 : Citizen's clothes ; large badge. 
Cop. Act ii. Scene 3 : Regular New York police style. 
Viola Wenley. Act i. Scenes 1, 2 and 4 : Act n. Scene 1 : 

Plain but neat traveling suit. Act n. Scene 2 : Light 



summer dress. Act n. Scene 3 : Walking suit. Act 
in. Scene 1: Dark dress. Act in. Scene 4: Dark 
dress and waterproof. 

Sarah Loker. Act n. Scenes 1, 2 and 4 : Stylish evening 
dress of light. 

Madam Loker. Act ii. Scenes 1, 2 and 4. Stylish even- 
ing dress of dark. 

Little Cora. Act ii. Scene 2 : Light summer dress. Act 
ii. Scenes 3 and 4 : White dress and hat, white kid 
shoes. Act in. Scene 1 : Light summer dress. Act 
in. Scene 4 : Light summer dress and waterproof. 

Betsey Smith. Acti. Scenes 1, 2 and 3 : Act in. Scene 4 : 
Checked dress, white apron, glasses, cap, hair combed 
down over ears. In last part Act i, Scene 3, add an old 
bonnet and shawl. 

Kathleen. Act ii. Scene 1 : Plain gown, handkerchief 
tied over head in turban st} T le. 

Constable. Act in. Scene 3 : Citizen's suit and badge. 

Citizens and Firemen. Act in. Scene 3 : Citizens and 
Firemen's suits. 

PKOPERTIES. 
Settee, kitchen table with drawer, five common chairs, 
parlor table, three parlor chairs, organ, a will, a marriage 
certificate, stocking of silver, a paper of authority, dirk and 
revolver, pen and ink, cigar, pails, hoes and shovels, police 
badges, rag baby, wheelbarrow, two fans, two canes, two 
jack-knives, bundle done up in a red handkerchief slung on a 
stick, trunk, red and green fire powder with arrangements for 
burning the same, small stone, five-foot ladder with short dis- 
tance between rounds, bundle of newspapers, pint whiskey 
bottle, snuffbox, supper dishes, food and drink, market bas- 
ket, with vegetables and eggs, churn, tray of mince meat 
and chopping knife, pillow, globe, maps and books. 

STAGE ZDIZREOTIOnSTS. 
(Actors supposed to be on stage facing audience.) 

Exits and Entrances. — R. means right; L. left; IE. 1st 
entrance ; 2 E. 2d entrance ; 3 E. 3d entrance. 

Relatives Position on Stage. — R. means right ; C. centre ; 
L. left. 

Plan of Scenes. — Front Curtain ; Street Scene ; Forest 
Scene ; Parlor Scene ; Chamber Prison Scene ; Kitchen Scene ; 
School Room Scene. The scenes are so arranged that they 
can be run without letting down the front curtain, except be- 
tween acts. 

Time of presentation of drama two hours and a half. 



THE STOLEN WILL. 



ACT I. 



Scene First.— Kitchen. Four chairs, table, settee. Amos 
Wenley on settee asleep. Betsey Smith sweeping. 
Amos. (Muttering in his sleep.) Viola ! 

Bestey. All men are fools, yes, fools, and Amos Wenley 
especially. Here he is asleep on the settee and a mutturing 
" Viola." Plague take her, I sa}^. Before her advent I was 
sure of being left all the propert} x , but now my cake is dough, 
3 T es, dough, and doughed by that Viola Wenley. Now she 
is coming home from school and with her coming things will 
be worse than ever, for I can't bear the sight of her. She is 
nobody but the brat of that jade of a Mary Fernald, who 
crawled back here to die after having promised to marry that 
fool of an Amos, and then run off with that villian of George 
Jameson, who deserted her in a short time. To think that 
she should come back here and that Amos Wenle3 T should 
adopt her child, giving the brat the family name, and that 
he should bring the hussey up a lady ! Bah ! (Takes a pinch 
of snuff.) I have kept house for him ever since the old folks 
died and the property should be mine. It shall be, too ! 

Amos. (Waking up and going to door.) Eh? Betsey, 
didn't you hear the stage coming ? I thought I heard the sound 
of the wheels. 

Betsey. (Aside.) Awake or asleep, all he thinks of is 
that girl. (Addressing Amos.) I was not minding, but it is 
about time for it. 

Amos. Yes, I heard it, for here it is. 

Viola. (Coming in at door.) And here am I, father 
dear, home again to stay. (Hugs and kisses Amos, and 
turns to Betsey.) Ah, Betsey, I am glad to see you again, 
and looking so well too. With my help things shall be easier 
for you hereafter. [Betsey coldly bows. 

Amos. Viola, how you have grown ! You are as hand- 
some as a picture. I shall have to look out or some young 
fellow will be taking you from me. 

Betsey. (Aside in a sneering tone.) "Father dear!" 
" With my help ! " " Handsome as a picture ! " Fiddlesticks. 
(Addressing Viola. ) Well,I suppose you want to change your 
gown. You will find your old room ready for you. 



Viola. Thank }t>u, I should. Father, will you please go 
down to the gate and get nry trunk for me. 

Amos. Certainly, at once. 

[Exit Amos at door, Viola L. 2 E. 

Betsey. A pretty kittle of fish, I declare ; but this won't 
do for me, for I've got supper to get. 

[Enter Amos at door, exit L. 2 E. Betsey sets table for 
supper. Enter Amos L. 2 E. 

Amos. Well, Betsey, Viola has grown to be a nice young 
lady, hasn't she? 

Betsey. Nice enough. 

Amos. Wiry do }~ou speak so? 

Betsey. Because, Amos Wenle} T , I think it is all non- 
sense for 3'ou to do as you are doing by that gal. She don't 
deserve it. 

Amos. (Excited.) Betsey Smith, don't you ever let me 
hear you speak so of Viola again. (Fetching his hand down 
on to the table.) Eemember it ! 

Bestey. (Aside) . How the old fool flares up. 

[Enter Viola L. 2 E. 

Vjola. How nice to be at home again ! 

Betsey. Supper is read}'. [All sit down at table. 

Amos. Now, Viola, } t ou must tell us all about 3*ourself. 

Viola. There is not much to add to what I have written, 
excepting that a dark complected man has followed me seve- 
ral times lately, and I do not know what to make of it. I 
have got rid of him though, without doubt, by coming home. 

Betsey. (Aside.) He probably thought she was on the 
- 4 pick up," — nothing strange at all. 

Amos. (Aside.) Can it be George Jameson? (Address- 
ing Viola. ) It is strange, but you have probably seen the 
last of him. 

Viola. I hope so. [Knock at the door. 

Amos. Come in. [Enter Chip Winkle, Esq., at door. 

Amos. Well, what do 3*011 want? 

Chip. I want to let out. Don't ye want to hire ? 

Amos. Well, m3* boy, I don't know as I do. Where'd 
you come from? (Pause.) Come, come, speak up. 

Chip. He ! he ! (Points with his finger out at window.) 
He ! he ! he ! Run awa3' from over there, sir. I did b}~ 
vum ! Been livin' there. Couldn't keep me an3 T longer ; no- 
bod3* stops. I wouldn't either. Made me work like a nigger, 
pick taters, pull weeds ; starve everybody over there ; guess 
they won't ever ketch me again. 

Betsey. A pauper run away from the Wildland poor house, 
most likely. 



Amos. So I reckon. They do work them like slaves over 
there, children and all, I have heard said ; almost starving 
them into the bargain. Poor boy ! give him some supper ; 
he looks as though he had not eaten anjidbriiig for a week. 
Set a plate for him, Betsey. 

[Betsey sets a plate and places a chair for him. 

Amos. Come, sit up and help yourself — Tom, Dick, Hany 
— What's }'Our name ? 

[Chip throws hat down and sits down and eats. 

Chip. My name! Chip, Chip Winkle. I likes it the 
best the way Henry Mason writes it at school with a tail to it, 
E-s-q., that's for Squire, ye know, same as Squire Converse 
spells his'n. 

Betsey. (Holding up her hands.) The Lord save us ! 
He's a half wit. 

Chip. (Cramming stuff into his mouth and looking at 
Betsey.) Who be ye? Hah? 

Betsey. Who be I? I am Betsey Smith, }^ou fool. 

Chip. Fumry name Smith. 

Betsey. (Threateningly). Shet up ! (In a surprised tone . ) 
Gracious, how he eats. 

[All shove back from the table but Chip. 

Chip. (Pointing to Viola.) Say, Mister, am she an 
angel? / [Viola laughs, Betsey looks cross, Amos smiles. 

Amos. No, but worthy to be. What made 3^011 ask such 
a question, Chip? 

Chip. Oh, becuz I seed a picter of one in old Granny 
White's Bible-, once, and she looks just like it, so kind of 
white and soft, like cotton and wool, but if she ain't an angel 
she is pretty nigh one, 1 vum. (Getting up from table.) 
That's good ! cornprime ! Most I have eat for a month. 
(Points.) Couldn't get so much over there. 

Amos. I don't know but what I'll hire you, after all. 

Betsey. For gracious sakes, what are j-ou thinking of, 
Amos Wenley? WLL3 7 , he will be more plague than profit. 

Chip. Just what the3 r said over there, ma'am. (Points.) 
That's just what the3' said ever3 T day. 

Amos. I have taken quite a fancy to the lad. He seems 
willing and handy, and I need somebod3 T to do the chores. 
What is your opinion, Viola? 

Viola. I should keep him. He's been neglected and ill- 
treated, that's evident enough. 

Betsey. (Aside, taking a pinch of snuff.) That settles it. 

Amos. Well, well, let us talk about business. What can 
3 T ou do to make 3 T ourself useful, Chip ? 

Chip. (In a high ke3 T .) Hey? 

2 



10 

Amos. What can you do? 

Chip. (Brightens up.) Why, I cuts wood, fetches water, 
feeds the pigs, drives the cows and does lots of eveiTthing. . 
Done heaps over there. (Points ) 'Twas "Chip, come here," 
and " Run, 3-ou lazy dog," and " Scoot, you nigger," and so 
at last I ups and runs away. Couldn't stand so much, ye see. 

Betsey. (Clearing off table.) He's a fool and such a 
looking object. Ugh, how he looks ! 

Chip. (Grinning and eyeing Betsey.) Ma'am, " Hand- 
some is that handsome does," so old Granny White says. 
Don't look very nice now, but can slick up ye know. This 
ere hat ain't nry Sunday-go-to-meeting one ; got a new straw 
one over there. (Points.) Left it though. 

[Amos and Viola laugh. Betse}^ scowls. 

Amos. We will let him sta} T and I'll ride over to Wlldland 
poor farm tomorrow, and if he belongs there get him bound 
out to me. The}^ are overrun with paupers and will be glad 
enough to get one off their hands I reckon. (Gets his hat.) 
But come, my lad ; come out doors. I want to see how 
smart you are. 

[Exit Amos and Chip at door, putting on hats. 

Viola. (Addressing Betsey.) Is there anything I can 
do to help you ? 

Betsey. (Sullenly.) No. 

Viola. (Going out L. 2 PL) Well, then I will go to nry 
room and arrange my things. 

Betsey. What this place is coming to is more than I can 
tell. First a stuck up hussey of a girl is taken in, and now 
he has got a fool. The Lord only knows what he will be up 
to next. Plague take it all! 

[Exit Betsey R. 2. E. Enter Amos at door. 

Amos. Well, John Logan, overseer of the Wildland poor- 
farm, has bouncfChip Winkle, Esq., to me until he becomes 
of age. How scared Chip was when he saw Logan coming. 
Poor boj^ ! This man that followed Viola troubles me ; can 
it be Jameson ? I pray not. Viola looks upon me as a father, 
and does not know that he is alive. She is as a daughter to 
me, and all I have shall be hers when I die. But this man ! 
Who is he and what can he want? 

[Enter George Jameson at door. 

Jameson. He is George Jameson and he wants his daugh- 
ter, 3 T es, he demands her. 

Amos. (Excited.) You villain ! 

Jameson. Quite complimentaiy ! 

Amos. Get out of here ! 

Jameson. Not until you produce nrv daughter. 



11 

Amos. (More excited than ever.) George Jameson, you 
low lived villian, how dare you show yourself here after ruin- 
ing as pure and holy a girl as ever lived, Maiy Fernald. 
You murderer ! For your desertion was the death of her. 
Before I would give Viola up to you I would die. A great 
deal you think of her. Seventeen long 3*ears have passed 
since Mary's death and Viola's birth, and you have not been 
near. Now you appear, prompted without doubt b}^ some 
hellish designs. Better far to lay her in the grave than give 
her over to you. 

Jameson. Tut, tut, old man, be careful. The law gives 
her to me, and I shall take her. 

Amos. By the God's you shall not, Leave this house in- 
stantly. 

Jameson. Don't get excited. 

Amos. Leave ! 

[Amos rushes at Jameson. They clasp and struggle. 
Jameson draws dirk and stabs Amos, who falls to stage with 
a scream. 

Jameson. (Looking about in a frightened manner.) The 
old fool ! I only wanted him to think I was going to take 
the girl so as to get a stake out of him. But blast it, I must 
get out of this before I get caught. 

[Exit Jameson at door in haste. 

Amos. (Groaning.) I am clone for. Stabbed to death by 
Viola's father. For her sake he shall escape. I'll never tell 
who did it, for Betse3 T knows that Jameson is her father. 

[Enter Chip at door. Viola L. 2 E. Betsey R. 2 E. All 
excited. 

All Three. What's the matter? 

Amos. (Low.) I am stabbed. Get me on to the settee. 
[The} T put him onto the settee, Viola arranging pillow. 

Viola. Oh, father, you bleed awfully. (Holds handker- 
chief to wound.) How did it happen? 

Amos. (Gasping.) A man came in ; we had a dispute 
and it led to a fight. He struck me with a knife. I am dy- 
ing, dj-ing. Viola, sing to me, sing that beautiful song " Eter- 
nhrv Dawns." 

[Viola, resting his head on her arm, mournfully sings, 
''Eternhvv Dawns." Tune No. 278 of Gospel Hymns com- 
bined. 

"Eternity dawns on my vision to-day; 
Gather round me, my loved ones, to sing and to pray. 
The shadows are past and the veil is withdrawn ; 
Brightly now does the morn of eternity dawn. 

Chokus : Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah we sing, 

Jesus conquered the grave, robbing death of its sting. 



12 

Hosanna ! again let the glad anthem ring. 
Sing and pray. Eternity dawns. 

Eternity dawns ! Oh, the glories that rise, 
How they burst on my soul in blissful surprise. 
With rapture the gleam of the city I see, 
"Where the crown and the mansion are waiting for me. 
Chokus. 

Eternity dawns ! There will be no more night ; 
I am nearing the gates of the city of light. 
The shadows of time are all passing away, 
Tarry not, O my Saviour, come quickly I pray. 
Chorus. 

Eternity dawns ! Earth recedes from my view ; 
Weeping friends, now farewell, I must bid you adieu; 
I am resting in Jesus. His merits I plead; 
Eear you not for my God shall supply all your need." 
Chorus. 



Amos. Eternity dawns ! I come. (Falling back.) Fa- 
ther, I come. 

Viola. Dead ! Oh, my soul, he is dead. [Faints. 

Betsey. What a muss ! (Addressing Chip.) Here Chip, 
you brat, take hold and help get her to her room. 

Chip. (Sobbing.) My name ain't Chip you brat. It is 
Chip Winkle, Esq. 

Betsey. (Sneering.) Well, Mr. Chip Winkle, Esq., will 
you please help me get this gal up stairs. 

[Exit Chip and Betsey L. 2 E. with Viola. Enter Chip 
and Betsey L. 2 E. 

Betsey. Now run and get Coroner Collins. Start } T our 
boots. [Exit Chip at door. 

Betsey. (Takes pinch of snuff'.) Now the coast is clear. 
I have the old will Amos Wenley made before that Jazabel 
came, giving the property to me. I'll substitute it for the 
last one he made giving the property to Viola Wenle} T . The 
lawyer that made it is dead, and the witnesses are gone, no 
one knows where. The old will was made by Squire Con- 
verse up here, and the witnesses are all a-living. Betsey 
Smith, you are all right. Now for his bed-room where he 
keeps the will. [Exit Betsey R. 1 E. ; enter same with will. 

Betsey. The deed is done ! Shall I burn the will? No, 
I have not time, for here comes the coroner. (Puts will in 
dress.) [Enter Chip and Coroner at door. 

Coroner. (Shaking hands with Betsey.) Miss Smith, I 
believe. 

Betsey. (Low.) Yes, sir. 

Coroner. (Crossing over and looking at bod}'.) Ah, 
madam, a sad case, this, very sad ! 

Betsey. (Crying and wiping her eyes with apron.) Yes. 
Oh, oh, what shall I do? he was like a brother to me. 



\ 

13 

Chip. (Aside.) How she goes.it now, the old sardine. I 
hate her. Mighty little she cares. 

Coroner. Yes, Amos was a good man. Emphatically so. 
How does Viola take it? 

Betsey. She is up stairs in her room. I stayed alone 
while Chip was gone. 

Chip. She fainted, sir ; we had to carry her up. That 
we did, sir. 

Betsey. (Aside to Chip.) Shet up ! 

Coroner. I must do my solemn duty. Nothing can be 
done to-night except to take charge of the house. I myself 
will stay here, for Amos was an old friend of mine. But 
stop, do you know who committed the murder? Chip said 
all he knew was that it was a man. 

Betsey. No, we found him here. All he said was that a 
man came in and that they had a dispute and he was stabbed. 

Coroner. A sad, strange, mysterious case. 

BktseYo Yes. Shall we stay with you? 

Coroner. No, I prefer to be alone. 

Betsey. All right. Call, if you wish anything. 

[Exit Betsey and Chip R. 2 E. 

Coroner. A remarkable affair ! Who can the murderer 
be ? How queer the housekeeper answered me when I asked 
about Viola, and how mad she looked when the boy spoke. 
Truly this is a strange, queer case. "Murder will out" 
though ! 

FOREST DROP SCENE. 

ACT I. 

Scene Second. Woodland. Chip walking back and forth. 

Chip. I don't believe Betsey Smith was to have the stuff. 
She's an old tarnal. Property should have been Miss Viola's. 
Mr. Wenley was a good man and thought the world of Miss 
Viola. By gosh all hemlock ! everything is t'other end up. 
Those pesky cows act worse than ever since the}' got to be 
Betsey's. Devil take her and the cows too. 

[Enter Viola R. 2 E., dressed for traveling, bag in hand. 

Viola. Why, Chip, you are wicked. Y"ou should not 
swear. 

Chip. Well, darn it ! — that ain't swearing anyhow— I hate 
Betsey Smith, and I wish those plague}' critters were dead 
and in heaven. 

Viola. What a boy you are, Chip ! Cows don't go to 
Heaven when they die. They have not got any souls. 

Chip. Well, I don't know, but the plaguey critters pester 
me most to death. I tell ye it ain't quite so easy hunting up 



14 

runaway cows. Darn 'em ! when I do ketch 'em I allers talks up 
smart to 'em and calkalates the}- will remember it next time. 

Viola. But do they, Chip ? 

Chip. Lord, do ! The} T are jest the worst beasts in town. 
It don't do an atom of good, jaw all ye can ; they have got 
the poorest remembrances I ever seed. Now ye jest whip a 
dog and he'll behave like a gentleman, but the uglier you be 
with a cow, the uglier she is. I vum ! 'tain't no use an}iiow. 

Viola. (Smiling.) Well, Chip, 30U do seem to have a 
hard time of it, but }'OU must remember that it does no good 
to swear. 

Chip. Well, I won't, any more. I'll do anything you 
say. It'll come hard, though. 

Viola. I am glad to hear 3'ou say you. will leave off 
swearing, Chip, for I know you will stick to }~our word, as 
you never he, but I am forgetting what I came for ; Chip, I 
am going away. 

Chip. What ! going off to stay ? 

Viola. Yes, I am going to New York as a teacher. Ma- 
dam Spofford of Brightwood Seminary, where I graduated, 
got me the situation at a salar}- of three hundred per year. I 
am sorry to leave, but I am turned out, 3-es, ordered to leave. 
Betsej T Smith did not think I had a place to go to when she 
told me she could not have me here any longer, but I ex- 
pected it and was ready to leave. 

Chip. Oh, what shall I do? There won't be anything 
left to stay for now. It'll be terrible lonesome here after ye 
are gone. The old hog to turn ye out doors. She is too 
mean to live, she is. 

Viola. Hush, Chip, you must not talk so. I shall come 
to see 3 t ou sometimes — another year, perhaps. So cheer up. 

Chip. Well, "what must be will be," so old Granny 
White saj's. (Puts hand in his pocket and takes out an old 
pocket book tied with a string.) Miss Viola ye are going off 
a long wa} r s, and will need all the money ye can get. Here 
is three dollars that I have saved doing odd jobs, and ye shall 
have it. (Hands it to Viola, who refuses to take it.) Please 
take it. 

Viola. No, Chip, I have got mone} 7 enough to take me 
to New York, and do not need it. I thank } t ou just as much 
for it, for the will is as good as the deed. (Pauses and takes 
Bible from pocket and gives it to Chip.) Chip, here is a 
small present for 3-ou, a Bible with 3-our name in it. 

Chip. Have ye spelt it with a E-s-q? 

Viola. Yes. Always keep it, and read it, and in reading 
it remember Viola. 



15 

Chip. Tnank ye, thank ye, Miss Viola. (Whispers.) 
Here comes the old tarnal ! [Enter Betsey R. 2 E. 

Betsey. (Surprised.) Miss, I thought you had gone. 

Viola. I have not, but I am going. 

Betsey. Well, go along then. (Pause.) You ruay come 
back on a visit sometime. 

Viola. Betsey Smith, I would* never come back here to 
see you ; when I come back here it must be as I have always 
lived here — by right — the right of adoption. Father meant 
it and you know it, but by some hook or crook the law gave 
all to you and made me a beggar ! But I am going where I 
can earn my own bread ; if 30U can eat yours without the 
sting of conscience } t ou will be a happy woman ! Yet one 
thing I would ask of you, be kind to Chip, treat him well ; 
he is honest, good and faithful. Betsej- Smith, good bye. 
(Turns to Chip and takes him b} T the hand.) Good 03^6, Chip. 

Chip. (Sobbing.) Good bye. [Exit Viola L. 2 E. 

Betsey. (Aside.) Well, I never ! What impudence ! Can 
she know ? But no ! What a fool to be scared to death ! She 
is mad, that's all ! Much good the property will ever do 
Mary Fernald's brat now. [Exit Betsey R. 2E. 

Chip. (Seating himself on the ground.) This is a cur'us 
state of affairs. (Takes Bible and reads.) " In the begin- 
ning God created the heaven and the earth." (Pause.) Gosh 
darned, if it don't sa^y he created everything ; well, He must 
have been turning out poor work when He put Betse}' Smith 
together. Safe enough to bet on that. (Reads.) " So God 
created man in his own image, in the image of God created 
he him ; male and female created he them." Guess the} 7 " 
got some new images to create by pretty soon after, by the 
different looks of folks. An3~wa} T , it must take more than one 
image to make both men and women, cause they ain't nothin' 
alike. (Pause.) I'll be gosh darned if it ain't in black and 
white that He done it all — made everything in six da}'s, and 
on the seventh clay, rested ; well, He, was a worker, He was. 

[Enter Tommj~ Saunders L. 2 E. 

Tom. So Viola has gone, has she, Chip? 

Chip. Yes, the old she-critter drove her off. I shall go 
next, but she won't drive me off, for she gets too much work 
out of me. It's dig, dig, all the time, jest like a nigger. It's 
Chip, here ! and Chip, do this ! and Chip, do that, ye vag- 
abond ! No rest or comfort since she got the stuff ; the old 
dragon, I just won't hurry for her. I hate the concentrated 
combination of the slung together old tarnal, by vum, I do. 

Tom. So does every body, Chip. (Picks up stone and 
throws it.) There, I wish I had hit her old gobbler, don't 



16 

you? (Sitting clown.) Father and Deacon Mason and Squire 
Boyden were talking about her up at the postoffice t'other day, 
and the}' said she treated you shamefully and hadn't no busi- 
ness here, either. I heard the deacon whisper, says he, kind 
o' low," Depend upon it, she never come by that property 
honestly, for I remember that Squire Bridgewater told me in 
this veiy store, not six months before he died 'I've been 
making out Farmer Wenley's will, and depend upon it, the 
girl will fare well.'" (Lowers voice.) Yes, Chip, that's what 
I heard, and Mr. Woodward told, and he ought to know, for 
he writes for the New Hampshire Sentinel and Independent 
Statesman how when Amos Wenley was killed that Coroner 
Collins said that things were awfully mixed up, that the will 
was an older one than Squire Bridgewater said he had made, 
but as no other could be found the old one stood, and so Bet- 
sey Smith got all and Viola is turned out of house and home. 
Now, Chip, between you and me, I'll bet anything that Betsey 
knew where the will was that should have been found, and 
went and stole it. (Excited.) B} T George ! she knows how 
all our speckled hens lay in her barn, and gets their eggs and 
sells 'em. Ain't that stealing, and if she will steal eggs 
wouldn't she have stole the will if she could have found it ? 

Chip. What is a will, Tommy ? 

Tom. Why, don't you know, Chip ? It's a paper folks get 
a lawyer to write for 'em to tell who is going to have their 
property and things when they are dead and done with it. 
Now, you see. if I had died with them plaguey measles I had 
last winter, I should have left Herb Tenney my clog, Ben 
Smith my sled, and some of the rest of the bo^-s my new 
boots and kite, and a lots of things, but I got well. 

Chip. That's the kind of a thing that gave the stuff to the 
old tarnal, is it ? 

Tom. Yes, but then they sa}' that Mr. Wenley made an- 
other will that give it to Viola. She has gone off to New 
York to be a great teacher now. 

Chip. New York, ain't that a good many miles off? 

Tom. It's more than four hundred. I heard the master 
say so yesterday at school, but you ain't going to run away 
and find Viola and tell her about Betsey and what they say, 
are you, Chip? 

Chip. He ! he ! he ! Guess not. Better find the will first, 
hadn't I, Tommy? He ! he ! he ! 

Tom. By George ! I wouldn't stay here, I'll bet. Tell 
3 t ou what I'd do. I'd just run away in the night. Ketch me 
staying with that ugly old thing ; I'll bet I wouldn't ! But, 
Chip, look here, don't you tell about the will, 'cause dad 'd 



17 

whip me like sixty if he knew I told of it. He tells marm 
that little pitchers have long ears, s'pose he means me. Yon 
won't tell, will you, Chip? 

Chip. No, not by a jug full, I won't. 

Betsey. (Outside.) Chip, you vagabond, be in here in 
just three minutes, I tell you. Here's all the hogs to feed 
and the cheese to turn in the press, and you a-lazin' out 
there. Stir yourself ! 

Chip. (Aloud, as he and Tommy get up.) I am coming. 
(To himself.) When I get ready. The darned old hogs ! 
No use feedin' 'em, — not a might ; they don't grow an atom ; 
jest stopped a-growing out o' spite, I reckon, to bother her. 
Nothin would grow when she was lookin' at 'em. It's turn 
cheese all the time. Gosh ! how I'd rip it out if I hadn't 
promised Viola I wouldn't. Have to hitch up my gallows or 
I shall bust ! (Hitches up gallows.) Lazin' ! First time I've 
stood still a minute since I've been here. 

Tom. There she is now. Run, Chip, or she will be mad 
as a hornet. 

[Exit Tommy L. 2 E. Chip starts to run, but meets Bet- 
se}', who enters R. 2 E. 

Betsey. Here, you Chip, what have you been about? 
I've yelled and screamed, and that's all the good it's done. 
For my part I wish neighbors would keep their young ones at 
home and not have them alwa} T s hanging about other folks' 
houses. I'd just like to catch that saucy Tom Saunders and 
give him a right smart shaking up. (Shakes her fist after 
him and turns to Chip.) Step 3-ourself, Chip, and do up the 
chores afore bed time, and see that you are up bright and 
early for the churning. [Betsey slaps Chip, and he runs out, 
she after him. 

raise forest drop scene. 

ACT I. 

Scene Third. Kitchen ; Settee ; Table with drawer ; Chairs. 
Enter Chip R, 2 E. 

Chip. I am played out, tired and sleepy as a dog. Where 
can I laj T down so as to get out of the old tarnal's way ? By 
jinks ! I have it. (Getting under the settee.) I'll get under 
the settee. [Enter Betsey L. 2 E. 

Betsey. (Sitting down to table, unlocks drawer, and takes 
out the will and a stocking filled with silver.) Five, ten, 
fifteen, twent}< , twentj^-five. Mine ! yes, all mine ! Nobody 
to touch a dollar on't but me. 

Chip. (Sticks head out from under settee, and draws out 

3 



18 

a jack-knife.) I hate her ! The money is Viola's. The old 
tarnal stole it. I might kill her. I would take all the mone}- 
and carry it to Viola. No, no, I must not kill her. Chip 
Winkle, Esq., the Bible Miss Viola give ye says, "Thou 
shalt not kill ! " [Lays down. 

Betsey. Thirty, thirty-five, forty, forty-five, fifty, fifty- 
five. Why shouldn't I take comfort in counting it over? It 
is no more than right, it belongs to me. Viola come into the 
family and had her bringing up and schoolin', and that's what 
Man' Fernald's young one never ought 'a had. Amos, poor 
fool, to go nigh about crazy after such a hussey ! He meant 
to leave every cent of his property and every inch of land to 
Viola, but, He ! he ! he ! Betsey Smith was a little too sharp 
for him there. (Takes will and reads it.) This tells the 
story. Ha ! ha ! Yes, this tells the story. Nobod}* saw 
me, nobod}' knows it to this day, not a soul. (Looks about 
in a frightened manner.) Nobody knows it. Squire Bridge- 
water is dead and the witnesses are gone, and the will never 
had a copy ; nobody knows it. I might burn it, but I won't, 
because I can say with a clear consciene. I never destroj-ed it. 
But I can lock it up here. (Locks will up in drawer.) And 
now let any one find it if they can. I'll put the money in the 
bank as soon as I can go to town, for I can get five per cent, 
on it, and laying here it don't bring in anything. 

[Exit Betsey L. 2 E. 

Chip. (Getting up from under settee.) So, so, old gal, 
3~e have given yeself awa3 T . Ye have, b} T vum ! and I've got 
ye down finer than pin feathers on a hummin' bird. I'll be 
chawed up if I haven't. (Takes table and turns it over on the 
floor ; pulls on drawer ; takes out jack-knife, picks aw a}' at 
lock and finally opens it.) There, I have got it! (Opens 
will and reads it in a blundering manner, sitting on table) : 
In the name of God, Amen. 

I, Amos Wenle}', of Marlborough, in the county of Che- 
shire, and the State of New Hampshire, being weak in bod}*, 
but of a sound and perfect mind and memorj*, (for which I 
have reason to praise God) do make, publish and declare this 
my last will and testament, and herein dispose of all un- 
worldly estate in manner following, to wit : 

First, I order and direct my executor herein named to pay 
all my just debts and funeral charges, soon as may be after 
my decease. 

Second, I give and bequeath to my beloved adopted daugh- 
ter, Viola May Wenle}-, all my property, both real and per- 
sonal. May God's blessing rest upon her, and her life be a 
blessing and a comfort to all, as it has been to me. 



19 

Lastly, I do hereby appoint Amos A. Mason sole executor 
of this, my last will and testament, hereby revoking all former 
wills by me made. 

In witness whereof I have hereunto set my hand and seal 
this 29th day of March in the year of our Lord 
[ls] one thousand eight hundred and sevent3'-one. 

AMOS WENLEY. 

Signed, sealed, published and declared by the said Amos 
Wenley, as and for his last will and testament, in presence of 
us, who at his request, in his presence and in the presence of 
each other, have subscribed our names as witnesses thereto. 

Charles K. Converse, 
Nelson E. Davis, 
James W. Colony. 

By Jinks ! that makes things all right. (Gets newspaper 
and does the will up in it, t} T ing it with a long string, after 
which he puts it into one of his pockets and looks out at the 
left.) Consarn it all, I thought the old dragon had gone to 
the bank, but here she comes, bonnet and all. Gosh ! I must 
hide or everything will be knocked into a smashed up hat. 
(Gets under settee.) 

[Enter Betse}^ R 2 E., dressed for the street. 

Betsey. I thought I'd come back and get that mone}^ in 
the teapot and put with the rest. I don't need it, and rob- 
bers might steal it. I'll just slip into my bed room and get 
it, and then I'll be off again. 

Chip. While ye are slippin' I'll slip out. (Chip gets part 
way out from under settee, but hears Betsey coming and gets 
back again.) Didn't slip as much as I was going to. 

[Enter Betsey R. 2 E. 

Betsey. (Suddenly looking out of window.) I declare if 
there ain't Deacon Cuff coming with his team, going to mar- 
ket. I'll hail him for a ride. Lucky I come back for I'll 
get a ride all the way now. The deacon is a-kinder hitching 
up to me since Amos was killed. I wouldn't have him, or 
any man, though. All men are plaguey fools. (Goes to 
door and halloos.) Deacon, deacon Cuff, I say, Deacon, 
stop. I want to ride. 

Chip. (Aside.) Men are such plaguey fools I shouldn't 
think she would ride with 'em. 

Deacon. (Outside.) Whoa, whoa, Kate, whoa, whoa, 
will you? There, stand ! Want an}- thing, Betsey? 

Betsey. (Aside.) The old fool ! I shouldn't have stopped 
him if I hadn't. (Hallooing to Deacon.) Yes, I want to 
ride. Come in and wait a minute. (To herself.) I'll make 
him carry some eggs and stuff to market for me, too. 



20 

[Enter Deacon at door. 

Deacon. (Taking off his hat and wiping his face with red 
handkerchief, after which he shakes hands with Betse} T .) Ah, 
good afternoon, Miss Betse}', 3-011 are looking as prim as a 
lass of sixteen. I am delighted to see you. Want to ride to 
the village, do 3-011? Of course 3~ou can, with the greatest 
of pleasure. 

Betsey. (Aside.) Sentimental as usual. (Addressing 
Deacon.) Thank 3 t ou, thank you, deacon. I have some eggs 
and things I'd like to take to market, seeing I am goiug right 
there. Is it so 3-ou can take them on 3^0 ur team? 

Deacon. Yes, 3-es, without an3 T trouble whatever. Fetch 
'em along, fetch 'em along. [Exit Betse3^ L. 3 E. 

Deacon. A remarkable fine woman ! so prudent and sav- 
ing, too. Amos left her a considerable property. 

Chip. (Aside, sticking his head out.) Left it so she 
could steal it. 

Deacon. My dear, departed Lorilla (Wipes e3 T es with 
handkerchief) has been dead over two 3 T ears. (Straightening 
up.) Yes, I will propose to Betse3 T . A man of my stand- 
ing, deacon of the Orthodox church, and president of the 
town reform club, surety needs a better-half.) Certainty I do. 

Chip. (Aside, sticking head out.) Better take half of 
her than the whole of her, 03* a darned sight. 

[Enter Betse3 T L. 3 £.., basket in hand, filled. 

Betsey. Here, Deacon, here's the produce. If 3'ou'll just 
take and put it on the team, I'll be right out. 

Deacon. (Taking basket.) Yes, 3'es, Miss Betse3~, 3 T es, 
3 T es. [Exit Deacon at door. 

Betsey. (Opening drawer.) I'll just look and see if that 
will is all safe, just to satisf3 T nrvself. 

Chip. (Aside, sticking his head out.) Precious safe I'd 
be now, if she should find me. 

Betsey. (Screams.) The will is gone. What can have 
become of it? Nobod3 T has been here but Deacon Cuff. The 
old sinner must have stole it. What shall I do ? 

[Enter Deacon at door. 

Deacon. (Excited.) W-h-a-t, w-h-a-t, wh-at, what's the 
matter ? 

Betsey. I had a slight shock. 

Chip. (Aside, sticking his head out.) A will shock. 

Deacon. A shock? 

Betsey. Yes, Deacon Cuff; 3-011 ain't taken a^'thing that 
didn't belong to 3-ou, have you ? 

Deacon. (Aside.) That's a queer question to ask. (Ad- 
dressing Betse3'.) Nothing to do an3 T harm. 



21 

Betsey. What was it? 

Deacon. Your basket. 

Betsey. That? I gave that to you to carr} T out to the 
wagon. I mean did you steal anything? 

Deacon. (Greatly surprised.) What, me? me, Deacon 
Cuff, Deacon of the Orthodox church, president town reform 
club ? me steal anything ? You are craz}^ ! 

Betsey. No, I ain't either. Some one has stole a paper 
that belongs to me. No one has been here but you. 

Deacon. Oh, a paper ! What was it? Cheshire Repub- 
lican, or Christian at Work ? 

Chip. (Aside, sticking head out.) No Christian's at work 
here. Starve to death if there was. 

Betsey. No, no, it was a legal paper ! 

Deacon. What kind of a legal paper? 

Betsey. A right of waj T through some land. 

Chip. (Aside, sticking out head.) I'll right away through 
the land to New York if I ever get out of here. 

Deacon. I have seen nothing that looks like a paper. 

Betsey. You are sure? Let me look in your pockets. 

Deacon. What ? What? Still think I took it when I 
told 3~ou I did not? I'd have you know my word is not to be 
doubted. (Throws himself back with dignity.) I am Deacon 
Cuff, deacon of the Orthodox church, and president of the 
town reform club, I am. 

Chip. (Aside, sticking head out.) Go it, Cuffy. 

Betsey. (Going up to him.) I don't care if you are a 
bishop, I am going to examine your pockets. No one has 
been here but you since it was here. 

Deacon. (Reproachfully.) Betsey, here ! I'll show you 
what is in my pockets. (Turns them in side out, pockets 
being filled with all sorts of things except papers.) There, 
you see I've not got anything but what belongs to me. 

Betsey. Hold on ! there's an inside pocket in your coat. 

Deacon. (Steps back.) T-h-e-r-e, th-e-r-e, there's noth- 
ing in it ; no, nothing. 

Betsey. Let me see. 

Deacon. I tell you there is nothing in it. 

Betsey. (Suddenly thrusts hand into pocket and snatches 
out pint whiskey bottle.) What ! (Smells of it.) Why, its 
a whiskey — a whiskey bottle ! You are a pretty man, } r ou 
are, for president of a reform club. 

Deacon. (In great humility.) Betsey, Betsey, you wrong 
me. 

Betsey. Ain't it whiskey ? 

Deacon. Yes, yes ; but it ain't to drink. 



22 

Betsey. Ain't to drink? 

Deacon. No, no ; it's to kill potato bugs. A very effec- 
tive exterminator indeed. 

Chip. (Aside, sticking head out.) Kill potato bugs ! 
Chain lightnin' wouldn't do it. 

Betsey. (Aside.) The old liar ! One thing is sure 
enough, he's not got the will about him. Perhaps I have 
mislaid it ; I am going to the village anyway. I must smooth 
things over a little. He won't say nothing, though, about 
my losing a legal paper, for it would give the whiskey scrape 
away, so that's all right. (Addressing Deacon and giving him 
back the bottle.) Here, deacon, here's your bottle ; I should 
judge whiskey would kill 'em ; I'm glad }*ou told me. I guess, 
after all, deacon, I didn't lose anything ; the shock unstrung 
nry nerves. Excuse my actions, will you? 

Deacon. Certainly, certainly, but, I say, don't say any- 
thing about the potato bug exterminator. You know folks 
would talk if the}* knew I put liquor to any use. 

Betsey. Of course I won't say anything. As you say, 
folks are liable to talk if there is an}* ground whatever, espe- 
cially about men so prominent as }*ourself. Are jou. ready to 
go to town now? lam. 

Deacon. Yes, yes ; I was so flustered I forgot to ask if 
you were ready. Will you take my arm? 

[Exit Deacon and Betsey at door, arm in arm. 

Chip. (Getting out from under settee.) Gosh ! what a 
go. Whiskey and potato bugs. Ha, ha, ha ! Now is my 
time to skip. I'll do it, too. 

[Exit at L. 2 E., returning with bundle done up in a red 
handkerchief, slung over his back on a stick. 

Chip. Chip Winkle, Esq., is bound for New York with 
'- The Stolen Will." Good bye until Viola is found. 

FRONT CURTAIN. 

ACT II. 

Scene First. Parlor. Madam Loker and Sarah Loker sit- 
ting by table. Center Table. Three Chairs. 

Madam. (Fanning.) Sadie, 3*011 have, without doubt, no- 
ticed that Mr. Jameson has been quite attentive to me since 
your father died. Well, last evening he proposed, and he 
being rich and accomplished, I accepted. Now, my dear, 
your cousin Edward is coming home from Europe, soon, and 
all you have to do is to lay your ropes and follow your 
mamma's example. We will be married at the same time if 
it can be arranged. 

Sarah. (Languidly fanning.) You do not mean to say 



23 

you are engaged, do you? 'T is grand ! May I have as good 
success with Edward.' His first wife's child, Cora, is the only 
stumbling block. 

Madam. Naj* , not a stumbling block, but a help. Sadie, 
you must win him through Cora, for he worships her, and by 
making of the child, }~ou can win him, as you otherwise never 
could. 

Sarah. But I hate children. It's bad enough to marry 
a widower, without a child. No offense to you, mamma. 
He's rich and refined ; that's one consolation. 

Footman. (Outside.) Well, miss, what do you want? 

Viola. (Outside.) I am expected. 

Footman. (Outside.) You be, be jou. Well, I should 
think so, by the looks. 

Viola. (Outside.) Go to your mistress instantly ; tell 
her that Miss Wenley is here. 

[Madam arises and goes to door. 

Madam. John is getting pompous. (In a high key.) It's 
the new governess, John ; show her up. 

[Enter footman at door, followed by Viola. Exit footman 
at door. 

Madam. (Sitting down.) Ah, you have come, then, for I 
presume I address the } T oung lady recommended by Madam 
Spofford. Take a seat. 

Viola. (Taking a seat.) Thanks. I was sent by Madam 
Spofford. 

Madam. Miss Wenley, I had no doubt but Madam Spof- 
ford would send an older person ; 3'ou look very young. The 
last governess was much older. 

Viola. I am young ; not quite eighteen, but I shall be 
growing older ever}' da}^. 

Madam. Ah, } r es, but that is very young. Oh, excuse 
me ! Sadie, this is the new teacher. (Sarah just glances up 
from a novel she is reading.) You are quite tall, Miss 
Wenley, but too slender. Are you strong, miss ? 

Viola. (Arising.) Madam, is my size, or strength, or 
years the criterion of my qualifications to teach your children ? 
Madam Spofford's statement involved my scholarship, I be- 
lieve. 

Madam. Dear me ! Why, Miss Wenley, you are too 
hasty. I meant nothing of the kind, I assure }'Ou. Pray sit 
down. (Viola sits down.) Your youth seems objectionable 
only so far as your power of governing is concerned. And 
yet, after all, it ma}' be best, for you will enter more into the 
feelings of the children. They alwa}^ complained that Miss 
Stone was too stiff and unbending. You see, my dear, 



24 

(smiles condescendingly,) I, for one, don't believe in taxing- 
teachers too hard, nor pupils, either. Thus, you see, your 
duties will not be hard, no dull, flagging scholars to urge 
along, for Marty is uncoinmonty clever ; indeed, -Dr. Mer- 
riam assures me that Marky, though somewhat peculiar, is 
prematurely developed in all his mental faculties ; and Cora, 
little Cora Enwright, my nephew's child, whose home is with 
us, is quite a good scholar. Marky's passion for music is 
really wonderful. You are an accomplished player, Madam 
Spofford writes me. Do you sing also ? 

Viola. Yes, Madam. 

Madam. Well, I am glad of that, for Miss Stone had no 
voice ; Marky will be delighted, as will Cora. As regards 
management, you will find the children perfectly submissive. 
Perhaps now and then a little exuberance of spirits on 
Marky's part will need restraint, but usually he is an affec- 
tionate and yielding child. 

Viola. I am ve^ fond of children. 

Madam. Well, they will be but very little trouble. (Noise 
outside.) There is Marky, now. Rather noisy, I declare. 
That Kathleen ! dear me, me ! I must dismiss her. She does 
not manage right with Mark} T ; always crossing him. 

Marky. (Outside, crying and kicking.) I won't ; no, I 
won't ; let me alone. I won't, I tell you. 

Kathleen. (Outside.) Marky Loker, you be still. Be 
still, I tell 3'on. 

Marky. (Outside.) I won't, I won't ; no, I won't. 

Sarah. (Puts hands over ears.) Dear me, mamma, how 
shocking ! 

Madam. (Arising and going to door.) I've no doubt but 
what Kathleen has been crossing him in some harmless sport. 
These Irish girls are so impatient. It seems her special de- 
light to worr} T my darling. (In a high key.) Kathleen, 
fetch Mark} r in. 

[Enter Kathleen L. 3 E., followed by Marky. 

Madam. What's this noise all about? 

Marky. (Crying.) Kate won't rock me. She said I was 
too big to be rocked. 

Kathleen. That he is, madam ! 

Marky. No, I ain't either. Ma, make her rock me, do ! 

Viola. Madam, if you please, I will be shown to my 
room. 

Madam. Ah, bless me ! I had forgotten you might be 
weary. You came b}^ the boat, I presume, and the3 T are 
dreadful for making one sick, especially when the Sound is 
rough. In consideration of 3^our journe3' , 3-011 need not com- 



25 

mence }'our duties in the school- room until tomorrow. Kath- 
leen, take Marky Siway and then return and show Miss Wen- 
ley to her room. 

Kathleen. (Bowing.) Yes, madam. 

Marky. (Crjing.) I won't go a step, unless Kate carries 
me ; So I won't. I am tired. 

Kathleen. (Taking 'Marky by arm.) Come along with 
me. [Exit Kathleen L. 3 E., with Mark}^. 

Madam. Be careful with him, Kathleen. (Turning to 
Viola.) We shall be obliged to put you in the sk} T loft cham- 
ber for a short time. Sadie is to give a birthda}^ party next 
week, and all the rooms down stairs will be taken. After 
that we will give you a better room. 

Viola. (Aside.) And this is the place to wnich I have 
been looking forward to, as a happy, refined home. This is 
what I have educated myself for — to teach wild, spoiled, 
romping children, — to be little better than a hired nursery 
girl. What a trial it will be ! That purse proud, vulgar wo- 
man, that haughty daughter with her doll face and insolent 
stare. Better far to go forth and do anything, — teach the 
children of the backwoods ; do anything that is honorable. 

[Enter Kathleen L. 3 E. 

Kathleen. Now I am after showing you to your room, if 
you are ready, miss. 

Viola. Thanks. 

[Exit Kathleen R. 3 E., followed by Viola. Enter Foot- 
man at door followed by Jameson. 

Footman. (Bows.) Mr. George Jameson. 

[Exit Footman at door. 

Jameson. (Bowing to Madam and Sarah who return bow.) 
Ah, how do you do, Florence, my love? I am delighted to 
see you, Miss Sadie. 

[Exit Sarah L. 2 E. 

Madam. Be seated, please. (Jameson sits down.) How 
kind of you, George, to call ; I was dying to see you. Sadie 
is delighted over our engagement. 

Jameson. I am so glad. (Aside.) It will be easier man- 
aging the old woman's property. She thinks I am rich ; so I 
am, in a horn. (Addressing Madam.) Who was that 3*oung 
lady that went out of here as I came in ? 

Madam. The new governess, Miss Wenley. 

Jameson. (Aside.) Viola, as sure as fate ! But it makes 
no odds ; she does not know who I am. (Addressing 
Madam.) Oh ! 

Madam. Seeing you are soon to become a member of the 
family, — to be a father to Marky, — I should be pleased to 

4 



26 

have you present to-rnorrow when the governess drills him 
and Edward's child, to see what studies they are adapted to. 

Jameson. (Aside.) I'd pursue a course taking that fool 
of a Marky to an idiot asylum. (Addressing Madam.) 
Thanks, I should be delighted to be present. Mark} 7 is a fine 
bo} 7 and I already love him as though he was of my own flesh 
and blood. 

Madam. (Murmurs.) Oh, George, how kind-hearted you 
are. How happy we shall be when we are married. 

Jameson. (Aside.) I'll be happy to get her money, that's 

all. (Addressing Madam.) Yes, our hearts will beat as one. 

[Noise outside. Enter Marky L. 3 E. 

Marky. (Crying.) Kathleen won't play horse with me. 

Madam. That girl shall be discharged ! Marky, cheer 
up and come here. Mr. Jameson wants to see } t ou. (Marky 
stops crying ; walks up with finger in his mouth.) Marky, 
Mr. Jameson is going to be your father. Kiss him, Marky. 

Marky. (Failing to kiss Jameson.) I don't want to. 
I've had one father ; ain't that enough ? 

Madam. But, Marty, he is to be your step-father, and 
will love you as though you were his own boy. Come, now, 
kiss him. 

Marky. What ! love me the same as father used to Kate, 
when ybu wan't around ? He used to kiss her ; must I love 
him like that? 

Madam. (Aside.) I'll turn that girl off at once. Ad- 
dressing Marky.) Your father never kissed Kathleen. 
Come, kiss Mr. Jameson. (Marky does so.) That's right. 

Jameson. (Aside.) Bah ! I never thought I should kiss 
such a calf. (Addressing Madam.) A very nice boy ! 

Madam. Yes, and so clever! Why, he speaks French 
like a native. Will you try him in the language? 

Jameson. If you wish. (Madam inclines head.) Paries 
vous Francais. 

Marky. Oui. 

Jameson. Bon jour. 

Marky. Oui. 

Jameson. (Smiling.) Bon soir. 

Marky. Oui. 

Jameson. N'aubliez pas. 

Marky. Oui. 

Jameson. I am afraid you are a little mixed in your 
French to-day. 

Madam. Yes, I am surprised, but it is not your fault, 
Marky. Miss Stone did not teach you as she should. The 
first question you answered correctly, but the rest wrong. 



27 

Bon jour is "good morning" and you should have repeated it, 
as you should Bon soir, which is "good evening." The last 
phrase was " forget not," and you should have answered in 
the negative. Now, Mark}', run and play. 

[Exit Marky L. 3 E. Enter Footman L. 2 E. 

Footman. Miss Sadie has ordered the carriage and is 
going down to the park. She wishes to know if you will ac- 
company her. 

Madam. Is it so you can go, George ? 

Jameson. Certainly. 

Madam. We will go at once. 

[Exit Footman L. 2 E. followed by Jameson and Madam 
arm in arm. 

RAISE PARLOR CURTAIN. 

ACT II. 

Scene Second. Schoolroom. Five Chairs, Table, Organ, 

Globe, Maps and Books. Madam Loker, Sarah Loker, 

George Jameson seated at left, Marky and Cora Enwright 

seated at right. [Enter Viola L. 2 E. 

Madam. Ah, good morning. We were waiting for you. 
Mr. Jameson, Miss Wenle} T , Miss Wenley, Mr. Jameson. 
(Jameson and Viola bow.) This gentleman is about to be- 
come a member of the family, and is, of course, interested in 
the children, especially Mark}'. 

Jameson. (Aside.) To think she is a governess. 

Viola. (Aside.) The same dark complected man that 
followed me when at school. What can it mean ? (Address- 
ing Madam and nodding towards the children.) These are my 
pupils, I suppose. 

Madam. Yes, children, this is your new teacher, Miss 
Wenley. Mark} T , let Miss Wenley hear you recite in geog- 
raplry. Name the New England states. 

Marky. (In a loud voice, and opening and shutting a 
large jack-knife.) Maine, Vermont, Massachusetts, Rhode 
Island, New Hampshire and Connecticut. 

Madam. Bound New York. 

Marky. New York is bounded on the North by Lake On- 
tario and St. Lawrence river, on the east by Vermont, on the 
south by Pennsylvania and on the west by Sing Sing. 

Madam. Be careful, Marky ; It 's bounded on the west by 
Lake Erie and Pennsylvania. What's the capital? 

Marky. Buffalo. 

Madam. You are not up in your geography to-day ; Al- 
bany is the capital. 

Marky. Albany is the capital. 



28 

Madam. Who 's the President of the United States, and 
who is Governor of New York ? 

Marky. James G. Blaine, President United States ; Henry 
Ward Beecher, Governor New York. (Cuts his finger and 
runs to Madam to be consoled. She ties handkerchief 
around it.) 

Madam. There, there, Mark}', don't cry ; Miss Wenley 
wants to ask you some questions. 

Viola. Now, Marky, let's hear you repeat the multiplica- 
tion table. 

Sarah. (Aside.) Wonder if she would not like to have 
the days of the week repeated. 

Marky. (Stops crying, says the one's part through, every 
now and then looking to Viola to see if he is right.) There, 
Mamma, it 's no use ! I am stuck. Didn't I tell you that 
Will Putney, if he is the cook's boy and lives in the kitchen, 
can beat me in 'rithmetic. (Turns to Viola.) I can't say it, 
Ma'am, I never went to school with the other boys. Will, 
he knows it by heart. (Opens and shuts knife and cries.) 

Madam. No matter, my son ; don't cry. Go now to your 
seat, but do put up that horrid knife ; I am fearful you will 
hurt yourself. (Mark}' sits down ; Madam turns to Viola.) 
You see, Miss Wenley, I never approved of putting children 
into the city schools where they come in contact with every- 
body's. Mark}' was always delicate, and I particularly re- 
quested the last teacher not to tax him. Dr. Merriam assures 
me I ought not, and that will account for his seeming deficiency 
in some of the elementary studies. Now, when he takes to a 
study, one might as well endeavor to move the battery as 
turn him from it. The doctor says " never cramp or distort 
a young mind," and I have always allowed Marky his own 
bent. (Speaking to Cora) Cora, let Miss Wenley hear you 
recite some piece. [Cora arises, bows and speaks : 

"I WONDER!" 

"I look at the sky and wonder. 
O starry deeps ! What is the mystery 
That hurls your orbs in perfect, sweet accord ? 
Oft times obscured by fleecy ships of cloud; 
Again grown pale in Luna's matchless smile. 
Why are ye not precipitated down? 
And in a vast chaotic whirlpool thrown 
To dance, and seethe, and bubble into nought? 
Ye gemmy isles that star celestial seas. 
Say : art thou gleaners in the fields of space ? 
Art blossoms hung is spring's prelatent crown? 
Art precious sands strewn on the shores of time ? 
Tell me: What art thou? And why art thou there? 
When lurid lightnings lick the vaulted sky, 
Are ye not pierced by wrathful javelines thrown? 
And strung like golden beads upon a thread? 
Fit necklace to enring the tempest's throat. 



29 

Or is the purple ocean where ye bathe 
And prattle at reflections of yourselves 
So far and vast ye do not even know 
Of storms that vex the bosom of our star ? 
Reveal to me the law which governs you ; 
The one intelligence which guides you all. 
For sure but one intelligence above 
Could tune you to such perfect harmony. 
And to my spirit's questioning, there comes 
But one sweet answer : God ! 

" I look in my soul and wonder : 

soul ! thou fiery chariot of thought ! 

Thou fountain of the affections! Thou throne 

Of all infinite possibilities ! 

Vaster in thy compass than the stars ; 

Deeper than the ocean of the skies ; 

Richer, in being soul, than all the wealth 

That treasured in Phoebus coffers lie : 

And dearer to the heart of Infinite, 

Than universe, suns and moons and stars. 

Where gathered, and what are the elements 

That form thee? O, thou strange mysterious soul ! 

Or art thou some new element thyself? 

Or that which animates an element? 

Didst preexist ere by the body caught, 

And prisoned in its tenement of dust? 

Art thou like plants, that grow, and leaf and bloom, 

In slow unfoldment ? Or art perfect formed ? 

And openest the treasures of thy store 

But as the growth of spirit may demand? 

If this, O burst the shroud that veileth thee, 

And let my eager spirit drink, O soul ! 

From thy full fountain, quenchingly and deep. 

1 pray you, tell me : part of what art thou? 
Still to my spirit's questioning, there comes 
The same sweet answer : GOD ! " 

[All look pleased with piece. 

Viola. (Kissing Cora.) Excellent ! A difficult piece for 
a person of mature years to speak. Where did you learn it? 

Cora. Papa wrote it, and I learned it, so to speak it when 
he comes home. He is the best of good men, Miss Wenle}^. 

[Cora resumes seat. 

Viola. He must be if his child resembles him. 

Madam. Don't flatter the child, please. (Aside.) Edward 
might fall in love with the governess if the child should take 
to her. 

Sarah. Cora, dear, come and stand by me. (Cora does 
so ; Sarah puts arm around her and kisses her, saying aside) 
I suppose I have got to make of her if I hope to win her father. 

Marky. I want to speak a piece. Cora don't know an} r 
more than I do ; no, she don't. 

[Strikes an attitude and speaks : 

Here I stand upon the stage ! 

Oh, don't I cut a figure? 
If you do not like my piece 

Just wait till I get bigger. 

Madam. Marky, that will do. 
Sarah. You are a fool, Mark Loker. 
Jameson. (Aside.) I agree with the daughter. 



30 

[Viola suppresses laughter. Cora looks surprised. 

Madam. Miss Wenley, will you please play and sing? I 
desire that the children shall be thoroughly instructed in music. 

[Viola sits down to organ and plays and sings some popu- 
lar piece. 

Madam. Ah, pretty — very pretty. I dare sa}' jou are an 
accomplised organist ; Madam Spofford recommended you as 
such, but Monsieur Figaro would sa} r you lacked style. Now 
my Sadie, — she will play for you some day in the drawing- 
room ; her organ is superb, quite different from this the 
children practice on ; my nephew, Cora's father, the Hon. 
Edward Enwright, selected it in London. Sadie was at a 
boarding school then. Well, as I was sa3~ing, Monsieur pro- 
nounces her style brilliante magnifique. But really ! (Draws 
gold watch from pocket and consults it.) Almost ten! 
(Turns to Jameson and Sarah) and we have an engagement 
at eleven. We must be going. (Exit Jameson, Sarah, and 
Madam L. 2 E. , arm in arm, Madam continuing) . Your dinner 
will be served in the nurserj- with the children. Good morn- 
ing ! 

Viola. Good morning ! 

STREET DROP SCENE. 

ACT II. 

Scene Third. Street. Signs on buildings, among others, be- 
ing " Wright & Co.," " Hardy & Co.," Brown & Co." 

[Enter Chip, R. 2 E. 

Chip. By vum ! Here I am in the town of New York. 
(Looking up at signs.) Well, I be goll darned if here ain't 
still another sign with Mr. Co.'s name on it. I'd just like to 
know who this Mr. Co. is ; he seems to own about everything 
"round here. (Reads signs.) " Wright & Co.," " Hardy & 
Co.," " Brown & Co." As Granny White used to sing " still 
there 's more to follow," for all I know. Everybody seems 
to be in company with Co., I'll be blest if they don't. By 
jingo ! New York is a mighty big town, bigger than all git 
out ; monstrous high stone walls ; folks call 'em houses ; folks 
are fearful queer, I'll be shot if they ain't ; ask 'em where 
Miss Viola lives, the}' laugh and don't know a darned thing. 

Bet if there was gal right over there, (Points) and ye ask 
'em who 's that gal over there ? they wouldn't know a plaguey 
thing, but jest laugh ; reg'lar set of fools, anyhow. (Draws 
the will from his pocket, looks at it and returns it.) He, 
he, he ! think I am a fool, do they? Perhaps I be, but I'll 
bet Betse}^ Smith don't think so. Chip Winkle, Esq., knows 
a thing or two. He, he, he ! I'd give my black and white 



31 

rabbit and pet rooster I've got up in New Hampshire, and 
everything else I've got, too, to find Miss Viola. Yes, siree ! 
I'd do it ! (Looking out at left.) Gracious ! here comes a 
blue thing ; it 's a-fire ! Fire ! fire ! fire ! 

[Enter in haste Cop, L. 2 E., cigar in mouth. 

Cop. Fire ! Where ? Where ? Speak up. 

Chip. (Surprised.) Fire ? Where ? Why, ye darned fool, 
ye are a-fire yourself! (Aside.) He's crazy. I can't get 
him out alone. (Yells) Fire ! Fire ! 

Cop. (Grabbing Chip by arm and shaking him.) You 
young rascal, what do you mean? I ain't a-fire ! 

Chip. Yes, you be, too. That thing in your mouth is red 
hot, and smoke is pouring right of you. 

Cop. That's nothing. I am only smoking a cigar. (Aside.) 
Lucky for me no one else caught me smoking on the beat, or 
I would be reported. 

Chip. A what? 

Cop. A cigar. 

Chip. What's that? 

Cop. Why, you fool, it is tobacco rolled up to smoke. 
Didn't you ever see any one smoke before ? 

Chip. My name ain't u You Fool " ; it's Chip Winkle, 
Esq. 

Cop. Oh! it is, is it? 

Chip. Yes. I've seen folks have things made to smoke 
— pipes. I never see a stick or what ye call a cigar all a-fire 
before. Don't get mad ; I thought ye was a-fire, I did. Do 
all ye blue things — ye fellers with brass coats trimmed with 
blue buttons — smoke these things ? 

Cop. Well, well, I declare ! You are a queer coon. Blue 
things ! Wiry, blue things ! they are policemen. I am one. 

Chip. Oh, a circus feller ! 

Cop. No, no, a policeman is an officer of the law, who is 
'round when there 's a row, and arrests folks for breaking the 
law. 

Chip. I know, now. There was a fight uprstreet, here, 
while ago, and I see one after the row was through. Police- 
men have to get 'round as soon as a row is through, don't 
they? Some one yelled out u There's a rainbow," and an- 
other feller hallooed back, "There's always a rainbow after 
a storm." The policeman he looked mad, shook a stick at 
'em ; heard 'em say it was a billy, but it didn't look a might 
like .any Bill I ever knew. They yelled away at the police- 
man, and he kept a-getting mad and madder. At last he 
grabs a little bit of a youngster and started off with him ; they 
said for the station house. I didn't hear said what railroad 



32 

it was station for. Some one said something about Black 
Maria ; I kinder thought it might be that she or some of her 
folks was connected with the road ; she must be a big lady 
about here, for I have heard lots of folks tell on her. 

Cop. (Laughing long and hearty.) Well, well, this beats 
all I ever heard of. (Laughing.) A station house is where 
the3 T lock folks up, and the Black Maria is a team for trans- 
porting prisoners. 

Chip. I 've transplanted cabbages and the like ; never 
heard of transplanting folks before. Do they grow well? 

Cop. Transporting is what I said, not transplanting. But 
come, my lad, you must be moving. And look a' here, don't 
you halloo on the street again ; }*ou will find yourself in a 
station house if you do, and stand a chance of getting ac- 
quainted with the Black Maria. 

Chip. Feller can't do nothin' in New York. 

[Exit Chip L. 2 E. 

Cop. Barnum ought to have this Chip Winkle, Esq. 

[Exit Cop, R. 2 E. Enter Viola L. 2E., leading Cora, 
followed by Mark} 7 wheeling a child's wheelbarrow with a rag 
baby in it. 

Viola. We must hurry home ; it 's getting late, and we 
have been gone quite a while. 

Marky. (Cries.) I don't want to go home. No, I don't. 

Cora. But, Marky, we must, for, as Viola says, it 's get- 
ting late. 

Marky. That's it ; } T ou always agree with what she says. 
I won't go home ; no, I won't. 

Viola. (Aside to Cora.) Come, Cora, we will go, and 
he will follow fast enough, for he will be afraid of getting lost. 
(To Marky.) We are going, and you had better come. 

[Exit Viola and Cora R. 2 E. 

(Marky wheels barrow back and forth, smiling and happy as 
you please. All at once he drops wheelbarrow and begins 
to cry.) [Enter Police, L. 2 E. 

Police. (Walks past, and suddenly looks up ; sees Marky 
and turns round to him. Looks at him and gets ladder at 
wings at right ; puts up against him and climbs up aud pats 
him on the head.) What's the matter with }*ou, my little 
man? 

Marky. (Crying.) I'm lost. 

Police. You are? Who are yon? 

Marky. (Crying.) I 'm mother's fair-haired, darling lit- 
tle boy. 

Police. What's your mother's name, and where do you 
live? 



33 

Marky. (dying.) Same as mine — Loker. Live up on 
Fifth Avenue. 

Police. (Getting down and putting ladder up side of 
building again.) Well, come with me, my little man, and 
I'll take you to your mother. 

[Exit Police, leading Mark} T , who drags wheelbarrow by 
one handle, and clings to rag baby, R. 2 E. 

[Enter Chip on the run, L. 2 E. 

Chip. I see Miss Viola go by with a little gal, and some- 
thing else. Queer looking object, anyway 1 . Now I've got 
track of her, I'll find her. Then Betsev Smith, } T e want to 
look out. ' [Exit Chip R. 2 E. 

RAISE STREET DROP SCENE. 

ACT II. 

Scene Fourth. Parlor. Centre Table, three Chairs. Ma- 
dam Loker and Sarah Loker seated. 

Madam. Sadie, it is perfectly unaccountable, — the fancy 
Edward's child takes to this governess. This morning I was 
forced to send her away she clung to her so ; and just now, 
passing the school room, I saw her through the half open 
door, in her lap, and the governess hugging and kissing her 
as though she had found a treasure. But I sent Kathleen up 
instantly after the child. Artful creature, I'll warrant she is ; 
these poor teachers always are. You don't suppose, Sadie, 
this fondling round the child is for the sake of her father ? 
She is handsome, — he might take a fane}' to her ; I have a 
good mind to send her awa}'. 

Sarah. (Laughing.) Nonsense, mamma, how perfectly 
ridiculous ! Cousin Edward is in Europe, and this poor 
country governess never dreamed of him. Bah ! What 
strange ideas run in j-our head. 

Madam. You must remember that she saved Cora from 
being run over at the risk of her own life. That will give her 
a strong claim on his affections, and affection begets love, and 
love, marriage. If I am over anxious, Sadie, remember it is 
for j'our sake ; 3'ou know on what I have set my heart when 
Edward returns. 

Sarah*. Your heart is set on that no more than mine, 
, mamma ; I have not slighted so man}' hearts to go unrewarded. 
Edward Enwright shall be mine. 

[Noise outside. Enter Footman at door, followed by En- 
wright. 

Footman. (Bows.) The Hon. Edward Enwright. 

[Exit Footman at door. 

(Madam and Sarah both rise at once.) 

5 



34 

Enwright. Ah, aunt ! cousin ! I am delighted. 

Madam. (Shaking hands.) A pleasant surprise. 

Sarah. (Shaking hands.) Welcome home from a for- 
eign shore. [All three sit down. 

Madam. When did you come ? We had seen no announce- 
ment of the arrival of the steamer. 

Enwright, We made port about an hour ago, and I hur- 
ried here at once, anxious to see 3-ou and Cora. Where is 
she? 

Sarah. With Kathleen, Edward. 

Madam. Sadie and Kathleen rival one another in seeing 
who shall have the care of Cora. 

Enwright. It gives me pleasure to hear that my darling 
has so devoted attendants. Please send for her. 

[Madam rings for Footman. Footman enters L. 2 E. and 
bows. 

Madam. Bring Cora here, John. 

[Footman bows, and exits L. 2 E. 

Madam. You see I have made no change in nry establish- 
ment since poor Mr. Loker died. Not that I cared to con- 
tinue here, my dear nephew ; Oh, no, no, some more retired 
home would have accorded far better with a poor, bereaved wo- 
man's feeling, but I thought of Sadie, how dull it would be 
after her graduation, and for her sake remained here. When 
I opened the house for her coming out party it seemed like 
opening a tomb ; but I struggled hard with such feelings ; 
society has claims on us all, } t ou know, (Glances at Sarah) 
especially the } r oung. 

Sarah. (Aside.) She knows he will think it strange of 
us, keeping np such appearances on oar income, and is ex- 
cusing it. Mamma is so clever. (Addressing Enwright.) 
Ah, here comes Cora, darling. 

[Enter, Footman, with Cora, L 2 E. Footman bows to 
Madam, exits L. 2 E. 

Cora. (Runs to Enwright and kisses him.) Oh, papa, 
I am so glad 3011 have come. 

Enwright. No more than I am to come. How does my 
little girl do? 

Cora. Nicely ; I have got one of the best of governesses 
who takes the best of care of me. Wiry, one day I got in the 
way of a team, as we were out walking, and she saved me at 
the risk of her own life, so those that saw it said. You will 
be sure and like her, papa. 

Enwright. What is this I hear, aunt, about Cora being 
rescued bj T a governess ? 

Madam. Oh, she was out walking with the governess, and 



35 

through carelessness on the part of the governess, came near 
being hurt. 

Sarah. That's all ! 

Cora. She was n't careless. It was all Marky's fault, for 
he pushed me in front of a team. She pulled me awa}-. 

Madam. Cora has got a mistaken idea. (Aside.) The 
governess shall be discharged. 

Sarah. Yes, a mistaken idea. 

Madam. How did you enjoj- yourself in Europe ? 

Enwright. Travel wearies ; foreign lands cease to charm. 
The old world with its classical antiquities, the treasures of 
art, ruins and temples, fallen obelisks and eternal pjTamids, 
ancient libraries and galleries of painting and sculpture, Italian 
sunsets and glacial Alps, pall on the taste after a season, and the 
wanderer's eye turns longingly homeward over the ocean. 
The simplest thing — a voice, a strain of music — has power to 
bring the homesick tear to the e}~e. I can understand now 
wh} T the Marsellaise so stirs anew all the old fires of bravery 
in the enthusiastic Frenchman's breast ; wiry the Swiss peas- 
ant so yearns for his native mountains when Alpine songs are 
sung, and wiry the sound of the bag-pipe brings the Highland 
lochs and glens and the heather bells to the memoiy of Sco- 
tia's wandering sons. One da} T , — it was in Florence, and I 
had just left a picture galley where I had lounged awa} r a 
half day and was passing an old cathedral, when I heard a 
familiar strain that made nry heart leap for joy ; and what do 
you think it was ? 

Sarah. The Casta Diva, or II Trovatore, sung in their 
own liquid Italian, or any opera you mscy have heard prima 
donnas warble at your theatres, and which salute your ear at 
every turn in Italian cities. I would wager a box of gloves 
I am right. 

Enwright. You would lose. There stood, in front of the 
cathedral steps, a poor, half-clad beggar boy, strumming the 
strings of an old guitar to the stirring accompaniment of 
Yankee Doodle. 

Madam and Sarah. Yankee Doodle ! 

Enwright. Yes, Yankee Doodle. Now I am not natu- 
rally enthusiastic or over patriotic, but, I declare, that thrilled 
me like a trumpet call — the trumpet call of freedom. There 
in down-trodden, priest-ridden, enslaved Italy, the very street 
beggars sung the stirring national song of a great and glorious 
republic. Does it not prove, I argued, that no thrall, no en- 
slavement, can utterly crush out the inborn yearning for free- 
dom which the Creator has implanted in eveiy human heart. 
And straightway I had builded a most fair and powerful 



36 

structure — a very temple of liberty with domes and towering 
spires rending the blue Florence slsy — and all these reared on 
the flimsiest of foundations, — an Italian beggar's broken ver- 
sion of our national lryran. And when, at the close, those 
sad, dreamy eyes looks wishfully into mine and an outstretched 
olive-hued hand was presented to me, and the boy implored, in 
bad English, charity of the Signor, half the contents of my 
purse was enthusiastically awarded him. I was not giving 
alms to a lazy beggar, oh, no ; I w r as investing a few coins 
of " filthy lucre" toward the embodiment of a noble princi- 
ple — liberty. But, alas, for my delightful air castles ! Wan- 
dering that w r ay again, half an hour later, what do you think 
greeted me? 

Madam. I am sure I cannot tell. 

Sarah. And I should fare as badly in guessing as I did 
before. 

Enwkight. The refrain of an air strangely like "God save 
the King " died away, and I came suddenly upon my youth- 
ful hero, clad in a gay scarlet tunic, lazily sunning himself on 
the steps of the church Santa Grace, alternately humming 
the above named monarchical song and greedily devouring 
that favorite of Italian beggars — maccaroni — which, together 
with the gay tunic, were the very democratic investments of 
my charit} r . Ha, ha, that was the end of my enthusiasm. 
Down, down, like a plummet dropped into the Adriatic, sunk 
my temple of liberty,— spires, domes, national emblems and 
all. The dreamy-eyed Italian beggar boj T was speedily trans- 
formed into a roguish, laz}~ specimen of the " great unwashed," 
and the comparison I involuntarily made between the sons of 
our sturdy Anglo Saxon race and the enslaved children of the 
effeminate Southland, was anything but inspiring. American 
soldiers starving at Vallej 7 Forge, and dirty Italian beggars ; 
Yankee Doodle and maccaroni ! Bah ! I went to my hotel a 
sadder and wiser man. But this is a digression ; I wished 
to tell you that the Italian beggar boy's song answered one 
purpose — perhaps not an unimportant one, since it sent 
me home. Yes, it set me to thinking. A breath of air from 
my country home at Springdale seemed to sw r eep over me. 
The first Mediterranean vessel bore me as a passenger. So 
had my cosmopolitan tastes grown upon me that I came near 
forgetting the child I had left behind, a care to others. I 
came home at once. 

Sarah. No, cousin Edward ; no, you wrong us. Cora 
has been no care ; on the contraiy, the light and joy of the 
house. For her sake, no less than yours, is she dear to us. 



37 

Madam. Yes, indeed, nephew. I love the child the same 
as my own darling. 

En weight. Thank you, thank you, both my dear aunt 
and cousin. This is very grateful to me. Yet, do not think 
for the three long years the world has claimed me, I have 
ceased to remember what drove me there, — the death of my 
dear wife. The old wound rankles yet. Come, Cora, let's 
take a walk. Au revoir. 

Madam and Sarah. Au revoir. 

[Exit Enwright and Cora L. 2 E. 

Madam. Sadie, my dear, Edward is somewhat changed. 
He will never forget his life with Carrie, or her death. I be- 
lieve he is one of the kind who never forget. Do you think 
he will ever marry again ? 

Sarah. Beauty will never win him ; much as he ma}* ad- 
mire he never would marry again for it. Mamma, there is but 
one avenue to his proud heart ; whoever would win Edward 
Enwright, it is plain, must love his child— must play the ten- 
der, domestic, humdrum woman. I wonder if I am equal to 
that. (Gets up and views herself in glass and scornfully re- 
marks) I am } T our very humble, devoted servant, cousin mine, 
until I win you. 

Madam. You must win him. (Looks at watch.) It is 
time to dress for dinner. 

[Exit Madam and Sarah, L. 2 E. Enter Enwright, hat 
and cane in hand, and Cora, R. 2 E. 

Cora. How nice it seems, papa, to have you at home. 

[Enwright and Cora sit down. 

Enwright. Yes, home is the place of all places. Payne 
truly says, ■• Be it ever so humble, there 's no place like home, 
sweet home." How sad to think he never had a home and 
died in a foreign land. Cora, always have pit}* for the home- 
less. 

Cora. I do, papa. The governess, Miss Wenle}*, has no 
home ; her papa and mamma are both dead. She is so good 
and nice I love her awful well. 

Enwright. Hearing you speak of her, Cora, has really 
interested me in her. I should be pleased to meet the lady. 

Cora. You cannot help liking her. 

[Enter Viola L. 2 E. 

Viola. (Stepping back.) Excuse me for intruding. I 
was lonesome and was looking for Cora, not knowing friends 
were present with her. (Turns to leave.) I will retire. 

Enwright. Do not leave on my account, I pray. I pre- 
sume }*ou are the governess. 

Viola. Yes, sir. 



38 

Enwright. I am Cora's father. Pray be seated. 

Cora. Yes, do sit down. I want } T ou and papa to like 
one another. [Enwright and Viola laugh. Viola sits down. 

Cora. Well, I do. 

Enwright. Cora sa}'S you saved her from being run over. 
Accept my thanks and rest assured mere thanks will not be 
all. 

Viola. Don't mention it ; I only did nry duty. 

[Enter Footman L. 2 E. 

Footman. (Bowing to Enwright.) Madam wishes to see 
you in the librae at once. 

Enwright. (Arising.) I will go immediately. Cora, 
you can stay with Miss Wenley. (Aside.) This governess 
is just the one I should prefer to marry. Cora likes her, and 
she is handsome and accomplished. (Kissing Cora.) Good 
bye, pet. (Bowing to Viola.) Good day. 

[Exit Enwright and Footman L. 2 E. Enter Marky L. 1 E. 

Marky. Ma says she ain't going to have you and Cora's 
pa making love ; she knew you were in here, and sent for 
him. 

Viola. The idea ! (Aside.) He's a splendid man. 

Cora. They were n't making love ; they were only talking. 

Viola. Come, children, it is time to recite jonr lessons. 

[Exit Viola, leading Cora and Marky, E. 2 E. Enter 
Footman, followed by Jameson, at door. 

Footman. Be seated, sir. The ladies will be down pres- 
ently. [Exit Footman at door. Jameson takes seat. 

Jameson. So this young widower, Edward Enwright, has 
returned from Europe. Well, well, between mamma and 
daughter, he will be caught in the matrimonial net, no doubt. 
B3* jove ! these women beat the Dutch. Wiry, until to-day 
I supposed that Madam was wealthy, but I find that she is 
not. Bless my eyes, if she has not accepted me, thinking I 
was wealthy ; yes, for money. Well, it is a case of diamond 
cut diamond, that 's all. This is my last visit here, and then 
for fields anew. [Enter Chip at door. 

Jameson. (Arising and speaking aside.) Amos Wenle3 T 's 
bound bo}', as sure as fate. What in the name of wonder 
can he want, and how did he get here ? It won't do to let 
him know I know him. It might make things unpleasant 
concerning old Wenley's murder. (Addressing Chip.) Who 
are you, and where did 30U come from? Come, speak up. 

Chip. Chip, — Chip Winkle, Esq., from Wenley farm. 

Jameson. Laughingly, aside.) Might send for Madam 
and have the Squire many us. (Addressing Chip.) Well, 
where is Wenley farm? 



Chip. Up to Marlborough, New Hampshire, on the bank 
of the Minniewawar river. 

Jameson. Oh, I know ; it 's on the line of the Manchester 
and Keene railroad. 

Chip. A man chased her in Keene on the railroad ! What 
are ye talking about ? 

Jameson. You didn't catch nry meaning. I said that 
Marlborough was on the Manchester and Keene railroad. 

Chip. Ketch ! I did n't know you throwed anything. 
Marlborough on a railroad? Why, darn it all! don't ye 
know any more than to suppose anj r one would build on a 
railroad ? They'd git run over. 

Jameson. You don't understand ! There is a railroad 
running through Marlborough that is called the Manchester 
and Keene railroad, and when a railroad goes through a place 
they call the place on the line of the road. 

Chip. Oh, ye don't say ! Well, there is something that 
goes through the place they call a railroad. It is so far out 
of the town it don't amount to anything ; guess it is called 
the Manchester and Keene. I never knew of its running, 
though. I thought it laid still where it was built, so cars 
could be run over it. 

Jameson. That 's what we mean by a road running — cars 
going over it. 

Chip. Oh ! 

Jameson. Well, what sent you here? 

Chip. Come to find Miss Viola ; she lives here, for I saw 
her come in. The door was open and I walked in. Thought 
sue was in here, but she ain't ; I must find her, — where is she ? 

Jameson. Oh, you mean the governess : a tall, dark com- 
plected girl, with black hair and e}~es. 

Chip. Yes, that's Miss Viola, but I didn't know she had 
married a governor. 

Jameson. (Laughing.) A governess is what we call a 
teacher. 

Chip. Oh ! 

Jameson. (Aside.) I must find out what he wants of the 
girl ; perhaps there is money in it. (Addressing Chip.) What 
do }T>u want of her, nry lad? Come, tell me, I am the lady's 
friend and it 's all right. 

Chip. Are ye ? 

Jameson. Yes. 

Chip. Well, you see, after Viola left New Hampshire to 
come to New York, I heard folks thought there was another 
will, giving the property Betsey Smith had got from Mr. Wen- 
ley, to Viola. You know Mr. Wenley was murdered, and 



40 

when the}' settled things up, they found all the stuff was left 
to the housekeeper, Betse}- Smith, and Miss Viola, his 
adopted gal, was left without a cent. The old tarnal turned 
her out doors. 

Jameson. Well, what 's all this got to do with your being 
here? 

Chip. Hold on, and I'll tell 3'e. 

Jameson. Fire away, but cut it short. 

Chip. Well, give a feller a chance, won't ye? Folks said 
the}' thought there was another will giving the stuff to Miss 
Viola ; I found the will folks thought there should be, and 
here it is. (Takes will from pocket done up in a newspaper, 
tied with a lot of twine, unties it and gives it to Jameson.) 
I cuts and runs away when I finds it. Old Betsey Smith is 
mad, I bet. 

Jameson. (Reading will, speaks aside.) I see a chance 
to make a stake, but I must bluff the bo}' off. (Addressing 
Chip.) This is a will, as you say, and it gives Wenley Farm 
and the Wenle}' money to Viola May Wenle} T , the governess. 
Boy, it is not safe for you to cany this ; you might lose it. 

Chip. That's why I want to find Miss Viola. 

Jameson. Well, she has gone off and will not be back for 
a week. I will take care of the will for 3'ou until she returns. 

Chip. But I jest saw her come into the house. 

Jameson. She went right out again and has gone into the 
county with the children. Here is some money to take care 
of 3'ourself with until she returns. (Chip acts as though he 
would rather not take it.) I will let you know when she gets 
back. 

Chip. How will 3'ou know where to find me ? Shall I call 
here? 

Jameson. No, 3'ou be round in front of the Astor House, 
a week from to-day. I will be there. 

Chip. You will keep the will all safe ? 

Jameson. Yes. 

Chip. The will will be all right ? 

Jameson. Yes, yes ; but come, you must be going, for the 
people that live here would not like to find 3'ou in the house. 

Chip You are Miss Viola's friend and the will will be all 
right ? [Exit Chip at door. 

Jameson. (Hallooing after him.) Certainty. Turn to 
the left and keep right along. (Speaking to himself.) Jame- 
son, 3'ou are in luck. Yes, there is mone3' in it, and I'll do 
it, too. Yes, I will cany off the governess to some secluded 
place, and then, acting as her father, I will present the will, 
get the property, turn it into cash, and pocket it. (Suddenty, 



41 

after a pause), By Jove ! I have another idea. Enwright is 
as rich as a lord and thinks the world of his girl. I'll take 
her and Viola together, and get a reward out of him for her 
return. Then it will be thought that the governess has run 
off with the girl and no suspicion will be attached to me. It 
will be killing two birds with one stone. Jameson, old boy, 
I say again, } t ou are in luck. I will not wait for the Lokers 
to put in their appearance, but be off at once to carry the 
idea into execution. The boy is disposed of all right and ev- 
erything is lovely. Now for a fortune ! 

[Exit Jameson at door. 

STREET DROP SCENE. 

ACT II. 

Scene Fifth. Street. Chip walking back and forth. 

Chip. Well, I'll be Mowed ! blest if I won't. New York 
is the darndest place I ever seed. Every one calls me coun- 
try. I tell 'em that that ain't my name ; that it is Chip Win- 
kle, Esq. Then the}' laugh at me. Darn 'em, they don't 
know anything. I went up to the house, to-day, where I 
saw Miss Viola go in, to find out if she had got back, for the 
man that I give the will to has not been near the Castor Oil House 
as he promised ; the consarned liar ! The footman, any way 
that's what the woman up there called him, kicked me out 
doors. (Puts hands behind him.) Asked the clerk of the 
Castor Oil House if there had been a man 'round in front of 
the house to see mc ; he kicked me out doors. (Puts hands 
behind him.) I'll get kicked next if I look at anybod}'. 

[Enter Newsboy, L. 2 E. 

Newsboy. — (Yells, as he enters), Here ye are, Herald, 
Times, Tribune, World, Sun, five o'clock edition ; have a pa- 
per, countiy? 

Chip. That ain't my name ;, it's Chip Winkle, Esq. 

Newsboy. — You don't say ! Well, Squire, will ye have a 
paper ? 

Chip. I don't care if I do. 

[Newsbo} T gives him a paper. 
. Chip. Thank ye. 

Newsboy. No, 3-e don't ! Give me two cents. 

Chip. Another New York trick. Ask a feller to have a 
paper and then charge him two cents for it. (Takes out an 
old pocketbook and gives him two big cents.) There goes 
two cents for nothin' ; I've got to be more ecomical than 
this to live in New York. 

Newsboy. (Going out, R. 2 E.) Tucked him ! give him 
a last week's paper. He 's greener than grass. 

6 



42 

Chip. (Opening paper, sits down and reads.) "Buffalos 
whitewash the Bostons." What in time did the}' whitewash 
'em for? paint looks a darned sight better. ' k Great knock 
down in clothing." Gracious ! I wish some one would knock 
me down some clothes, if it were 'nt nothing more than a 
necktie. (Continues to look over paper, and all at once cries 
out) , I'll be goll darned ! here's a go. (Reads from paper in 
a blundering way. While reading Enwright enters and stands 
behind him.) 

A GOVERNESS RUNS AWAY WITH A PUPIL ! 

FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS REWARD ! 

The community will be startled to learn that the only child 
of the Hon. Edward Enwright, little Cora Enwright, was sto- 
len from her home at Madam Loker's, last night, by her gov- 
erness, Viola Wenle}~. No trace of the governess or child can 
be found. Enwright has only lately returned from Europe, 
and the loss of his child has nearly driven him crazy. The 
governess is tall, dark complected, with dark hair and e}~es, 
of good form and pleasing manners. She is about eighteen 
years of age. The little girl is nine years old, light com- 
plected, and remarkably bright for one so } T oung. Enwright 
offers five thousand dollars for an} T information that will lead 
to her recover}. The governess and child were greatly at- 
tached to each other, and why the governess should run off 
with her is a mystery. 

Chip. Well, of all the goll darned stories, that is the goll 
darnedest. Miss Viola would n't steal a pin. She steal a 
little gal she was takin' care of ! It 's a lie ! I 'd just like to 
hear some one say she would ; I'd smash 'em so the}' would 'nt 
know themselfs. (Gets up and jumps about shaking his fists. 
Suddenly sees Enwright and stops.) Well, I'll be shot ! 
Where 'd }'e come from ? 

Enwright. I have been here some time, my lad ; you ap- 
pear to know something about the case which } t ou have been 
reading. I am Mr. Enwright ; tell me what } t ou know. 

Chip. (Excited.) Ye don't say ye are the man thej tell 
about — the Hon. Edward Enwright? 

Enwright. Yes, the same man. 

Chip. (Pulling- off coat and doubling his fists and starting 
for him.) Then, by gosh, I'm goin' to lick ye, I '11 be goll 
darned if I ain't. Come on ! I'll learn ye to say Miss Viola 
stole your little gal. Come on, I say. 

Enwright. Hold on, hold on, my lad ; } r ou are excited. 
I did not sa} T she did ; the papers say that. 

Chip. Did n't you tell the paper folks so ? 



43 

Enwright. No. Now tell me what you know about the 
case. In the first place, who are }'ou ? 

Chip. (Pulling on coat.) Chip "Winkle, Esq., from 
Wenley Farm up in New Hampshire, on the bank of the Min- 
niewawar river. 

Enwright. Ah, you are the boy that called at my aunt's 
to-day. 

Chip. Yes, if 30U mean the place where they kicked me, 
— histed me. Say, mister, is that the way they treat every- 
body in New York ? 

Enwright. (Laughing.) Not hardly. But what do you 
know about this case ? How do you know this Miss Wenley 
would not carry off m} T little girl ? 

Chip. Because she ain't that kind of a gal. I know her, 
I do. You see I use to live with her. She is the adopted 
child of Amos Wenley, who is dead. Betsey Smith turned 
her out doors after he was buried, and she come to New York. 

Enwright. "What's all this got to do about the case? 
Who 's this Betsey Smith ? 

Chip. Give me time and I'll tell ye what it has got to do 
with it. Betsey Smith is Betsey Smith, the housekeeper, and 
if you want to know anything more about her you will have 
to write up and ask Charles Bemis ; he 's got out a history of 
all the folks up our way. After Miss Viola came to New 
York, folks said there was another will. I found it after a 
while, and then I ups and cuts for New York. Got rides on 
stages, carts, anything I could ; slept most anywhere, nights. 
Folks ask me where I was bound to, and give me my victuals. 
At last I got here, and after awhile I see Miss Viola on the 
street and followed her to yer aunt's. The footman wan't 
around the first time, so I didn't get kicked out. Found a 
tall, dark man in a room, nice room, I tell ye. I asked for 
Miss Viola and he said she had gone off into the countiy with 
the children, and would not be back for a week. I told him 
about the will, and he took it to keep, for he said he was a 
friend of Miss Viola's, and he was afraid I would lose it. He 
give me some money to take care of meself with until she got 
back, and told me he would see me at the Castor Oil House 
in a week. 

Enwright. Astor House, }>ou mean. 

Chip. Didn't ask her into any house. There wan't no 
her. Who said anything about asked her? I'm talking about 
a tarvern. 

Enwright. Certainly, I understand. You called the 
Astor House the Castor Oil House, and I corrected you. You 
mistook Astor for asked her. 



u 

Chip. Call me a thief, do ye ? I never took airy thing in 
nry life. 

En wright. What ideas yon get into your head. I did 
not say you took anything, but that you thought I said asked 
her instead of Astor. 

Chip. Oh, that't it ; well, Castor House. 

Enwright. No, no, Astor House. 

Chip. Well, it is a house, anyway. Time come, but no 
man, and I went up to j^our aunt's to see him and got kicked 
out. (Puts hands behind him.) Then I asked for him at 
the hotel, — what ye call it? 

Enwright. Astor House. 

Chip. Well, I got kicked out there. (Puts hands behind 
him.) It 's kick, kick, kick. I tell ye that Miss Viola would 
never steal j T our little gal. No, sir, she would n't. 

Enwright. (Aside.) I think the boy is right. The man 
he speaks of answers to Jameson. He has been away since 
the governess and Cora disappeared. Aunt said he was off 
on business, but it may be wrong, and he be at the bottom of 
the affair, after all. I'll take the boy up to the house and 
show him Jameson's picture, and see if he and the man that 
took the will are the same. If the}' are, and he would do as 
the bo} T says he has, he would be mean enough for anj^thing. 
(Addressing Chip.) Here, bo} r , come with me, and see if 
you can tell 3 r our man bj' a picture ; perhaps he is the guilty 
one in this case. 

Chip. All right ! 

[Exit Enwright and Chip, R. 2 E. Enter Jameson R. 1 
E., smoking a cigar. 

Jameson. I thought I would take a run down to the city 
and see how things were working. EveiTthing is lovely ! 
Enwright has offered five thousand dollars' reward for his girl, 
but he has got to come up more than that. Wenley Farm is 
as good as mine ; things could not work any better. 

[Exit Jameson, L. 2 E. Enter Chip, on the run, R. 1 E. 

Chip. I saw him. It 's the man that 's got the will. I' 11 
be darned if it ain't. 

[Exit Chip, running, L. 2 E. Enter Enwright, R. 1 E. 

Enwright. I wonder where that boy has gone to. He 
recognized the picture of Jameson as the man that took the 
will. Looking out of the window into the street, he saw 
some one, and thrusting the mone}'- I had given him to buy 
him some new clothes with, into his pocket, he started off as 
though he was crazy. What can it mean? I am satisfied 
that Jameson knows something about the governess and Cora 
being spirited away. I will set detectives on his track at 



45 

once. The bo}^ is after him to get the will and between ns 
both he will stand a chance of being caught. I wonder where 
Chip Winkle, Esq., went to. [Exit Enwright, L. 2 E. 

FRONT CURTAIN. 

ACT III. 

Scene First. Chamber. Table and two Chairs. Viola 
seated. Cora has head in Viola's lap. 

Viola. Don't cry, Cora. 

Cora. I cannot help it ; I wan't to see papa. Why are 
we kept locked up here in the woods by Mr. Jameson ? Aunt 
said he was a good man ; a good man would not do so. 

Viola. I don't know ; but come, cheer up. It won't do 
any good to cry. God won't let him hurt us. 

Cora. I want to go home. Why does he keep us here? 

Viola. It is more than I can tell. 

[Enter Jameson, in a rude manner, L. 2 E. 

Jameson. (Throwing hat on floor.) Well, I can tell you 
why you are kept here. It is for money ; yes, money. 

Viola. I have no money, so that cannot be the reason 
for your conduct towards me. It may be in Cora's case. 
Such treatment is an outrage. 

Cora. (Going to Jameson.) Please, sir, let us go. 

Jameson. (Slapping Cora.) Go sit down. 

[Cora cries and sits down. 

Viola. (Arising.) Don't you dare strike that child again. 
If your brutish nature demands that you must strike some 
one, strike me, but spare Cora. 

Jameson. (Sneeringly.) You ought to go on to the stage. 
Fact, I assure you. 

Viola. (Sitting down.) Leave us ! 

Jameson. When I get read} r . (Takes will from pocket 
and hands to Viola.) You said you had no money. Read 
that and see. 

Viola. (Reading will.) Wiry, it 's a will ; father's will, 
willing his property to me, his adopted daughter. 

Jameson. Yes, and I am your father. 

Viola. What! you my father? Good God ! can it be 
that such a villian as you are nry father? Oh, would I had 
never known it. No, it cannot be. You are* not my father. 

Jameson. Since you have got your hand in at reading 
legal papers, just read that. (Draws paper from pocket and 
gives to Viola.) It is a marriage certificate, and it proves 
that Mary Fernald, your mother, married me at Boston, 
Mass., July 4, 1863. The names, George Jameson and 



46 

Mary Fernald, are plain enough, ain't they? Do you wan't 
any more proof? 

[Viola groans, drops paper and lays head on table. 

Jameson. (Taking will and certicate and putting them 
into his pocket.) Well, are you satisfied now that I am 3 T our 
father? 

Viola. (In a low tone.) Yes. 

Jameson. So far, so good. Now, being your father, I 
propose to present the will and take possession of the prop- 
el- To that end 3'ou will please sign this paper. (Takes 
paper, pocket ink-stand and pen-holder from his pocket and 
lays them on the table.) The paper gives me authority from 
3~ou to take charge of the property. I can collect it without 
it, but it will be better to have it. Come, sign it. 

Viola. I will not. 

Jameson. You won't eh? (Draws pistol and aims at her.) 
Sign that paper, if you care to live. 

Viola. (Sneering.) You are a brave man, you are ! Draw 
a pistol on a defenseless woman ! How brave ! 

Jameson. Shut up and sign. [Viola finally signs. 

Jameson. There, you might as well have done so before. 
When I have realized the cash on the property 3'ou can go 
free ; until then you are a prisoner. (Turns to Cora.) And 
when your father offers a big enough reward for you, you can 
go free, and not until then. (Turns to Viola.) Perhaps you 
would like to know where 30U are. Well, 30U are confined 
in an old farm house just south of Wenley Farm. 

Viola. Wenle3~Farm? 

Jameson. Yes, there is nothing like being near the scene 
of action. Then, again, no one would think of looking here. 
A place nearer New York would be searched. Farewell. 

[Exit Jameson at door. 

Viola. The villain ! 

Cora. Papa, will save us yet. 

Viola. I pray to God he may. 

forest drop scene. 

ACT III. 

Scene Second. Forest. 

[Enter Jameson L. 2 E., drunk. 

Jameson. (Hiccoughs.) Well, I've done it — told 'em 
everything. (Jrliccoughs.) The darn girls kinder upset me. 
(Hiccoughs.) I've been through enough, I thought, to face 
'em, but I sware, it took a considerable liquor to brace me 
up for it. (Hiccoughs.) It did, and when I got through 
telling 'em what 's wnat, it took more to settle ,m3 T nerves. 



47 

Jameson, what's the matter with you? (Hiccoughs.) I give 
it to the girls, straight, anywa}-, without airy fooling. (Hic- 
coughs.) Feel kinder queer. Quite a forest about the place. 
Couldn 't got a better house to put my prisoners. (Hic- 
coughs.) Darn it all! What's the matter with me? I ain't 
drunk. Who sa^ys I'm drunk? (Hiccoughs.) I feel (hic- 
coughs) just as good as they frame 'em. (Hiccoughs and 
falls down.) I'm all right ! * [Enter Chip, L. 2 E. 

Chip. I'll be goll darned if I ain't gettin' to be quite a 
traveler. From New Hampshire to New York and from New 
York to New Hampshire ! Wonder how my name would 
sound wrote k 'Chip Winkle, Esq., great American traveler." 
(Pause.) Gosh ! it sounds like thunder ; the addition spoils 
the effect of the " Esq." I'll be blest if I'll change it. That 
'ere feller that's got the will has give me a big old chase. 
When I sees him in New York I followed him to the depot ; 
he got a ticket for Marlborough. I took the mone} T Mr. 
Enwright give me to get some clothes, and got a ticket, too, 
and here I am. He's here in the woods somewhere, for I 
tracked him to the edge of 'em ; I'll find him. (Suddenly 
sees Jameson on the ground.) Ity gosh all hemlock! If 
there ain't the goll darned sardine now. (Stepping up and 
looking at him.) He's asleep. Wonder if he's got the will 
about him. (Opening his coat.) I'll find out. Whew, I 
guess he and Deacon Cuff have gone in together a-killing 
potato bugs. Kill 'em to get near enough to smell his breath. 
(Takes will out of pocket and looks at it.) Hurrah ! it 's the 
stolen will. Gracious, I've woke him up ; I'll dodge behind 
a tree until he gets out of the way. [Exit Chip, L. 3 E. 

Jameson. (Getting up.) Thought I heard some one speak. 
Guess I 've been asleep and got to dreaming ; head feels like 
a bushel basket. (Gags.) . I must get along; got to see to 
gals. [Exit, staggering, R. 2 E. Enter Chip, L. 3 E. 

Chip. By gosh ! } t ou are caught. " Got to see to the gals," 
eh? Well, I'll jest foller up and see where they be. I've got 
the will, and now all that 's wanted is to find Viola and Cora. 
Then Chip Winkle, Esq., will settle down to work again. 

[Exit Chip, R. 2 E. Enter Deacon Cuff, R. 1 E. 

Deacon. Wonder who that man and boy were. I didn't 
get a square look at the lad, but seems to me I've seen him 
before. Well, well, what's all this got to do about my pop- 
ping the question to Betsey Smith? My dear, departed 
Lorilla (wipes his eyes) has been dead nearly three years now. 
A man of nry standing in societ}', — deacon of the orthodox 
church and president of the town reform club, should surely 
take to himself a wife. I 'd popped before, but Betsey keeps 



48 

a turning the subject when I get started to. I'll call upon her 
at once. Before going I'll take a little drink for my health ; doc- 
tor sa} T s my system is out of order ; I need something to build 
me up — a little ardent as a medicine is a good thing. (Takes 
out pint bottle and drinks.) I must hide the bottle afore I 
call on Betsey, she is so sensitive. (Takes another drink ; 
puts bottle in pocket.) Remarkable nice woman, though. 

[Exit, L. 2 E. 
(Fire looms up in the distance at right. Cries of fire out- 
side. Farmers and firemen run b} T , farmers with pails, hoes 
and shovels. Enwright goes through with the rest. All cry 
"fire!") 

RAISE FOREST DROP SCENE. 

ACT III. 

Scene Third. Kitchen of Wenley Farmhouse. Betsey Smith 
chopping pie meat. Deacon Cuff churning butter. 

Deacon. (Churning.) The butter is coming. 

Betsey. (Chopping,) All right ; I'll 'tend to it in jest a 
minute. 

Deacon. It's come. 

Betsey. Churn it a little more ; it makes the butter bet- 
ter. I'll jest cany this mince meat out and put it in the but- 
tery and be right back. [Exit Betsey, L. 2 E. 

Deacon. I'm going to pop the question. Lucky I didn't 
hide that medicine as I intended to. (Takes a drink, puts 
bottle back.) I was crazy to think of hiding it, in my state 
of health. She set me to churning just as soon as I got here. 
I'll pop anywaj 7 . [Enter Betsey, L. 2 E. 

Betsey. (Aside.) So he's going to pop, is he? The old 
fool, to think I 'd many him. If I knew for sure he had not 
got that will, I 'd pop him out of here in a hurry. (Address- 
ing Deacon and looking into churn.) There, that will do ; 
thank you, I'm glad you called, for it 's hard for me to churn. 

Deacon. You should have some one to do \ our churning 
for you. 

Betsey. Yes, I 've got to hire some one. I should have 
done so before, but I reckoned that that Chip would turn up. 

Deacon. Why hire? Betsey, there are man}' who would 
make you a good husband. 

Betsey. (Aside.) I must cut him off before he pops. I 
don't want to mad him, and it would to refuse him. I ought 
to burnt that will up and then I would not have had all this 
trouble. (Addressing deacon.) Deacon, will you please 
carry the churn out to the dairy ? I always work the butter 
over there. 



49 

Deacon. Why, certainly. 

[Exit deacon, with churn, R. 2 E. 

Betsey. The old fool ! 

[Betsey busies herself about the room. Enter Deacon, R. 
2E. 

Deacon. I carried it down. 

Betsey. Thank you. 

Deacon. As I was remarking, } T ou should get — 

Betsey. (Interrupting.) I am going to get a hired man. 

Deacon. No, no, I meant to say that you should get mar- 
ried. I am president of the town reform club and deacon of 
the Orthodox church, and — 

Betsey. (Interrupting.) Yes, yes, you are a very prom- 
inent man, Deacon. 

Deacon. A man in my position should take to himself a 
wife. 

Betsey. Certainty. 

Deacon. I have made up my mind to do so. 

Betsey. I am pleased to hear you say so. Nancy Brown 
has been dying for you this two years ; she will make you a 
good wife. 

Deacon. It is not Nancy Brown I have decided to take. 

Betsey. (Interrupting.) Oh, it 's Hannah Mason. 

Deacon. Why, no. Let me — 

Betsey. Of course } t ou can. (Takes out snuff box and 
passes it.) Take a pinch ; it's the best old Maccaboy. 

Deacon. (Taking pinch of snuff.) I was not about to ask 
for a pinch of snuff, as you supposed, although it is accepta- 
ble. You are too hasty — jump at conclusions. Have you — 

Betsey. (Interrupting.) Yes, I've a bean in my snuff to 
give it flavor. It is a West India bean ; one of the best. 

Deacon. Betsey, I really wish you would not interrupt so. 
I have long thought a great deal of 3 T ou. Poor, dear, de- 
parted Lorilla has been dead nearly three years, and it be- 
comes a man of my standing in society to take to himself a 
wife ; as I was about to remark when you spoke, have you 
not noticed — (Sneezes long and loud.) Pretty powerful snuff. 
To continue ; have you not noticed that you occup} 7 a place 
in my feelings (Sneezes) that none but you can fill. (Sneezes 
and wig falls off.) What, what! (Sneezing and putting 
wig back on in great haste.) Terrible powerful snuff, that. 

Betsey. (Aside.) The bald headed sinner ! (Addressing 
deacon.) Yes, the old Maccaboy seems to raise the old boy. 

Deacon. (Surprised.) Such talk is unbecoming a lady 
of your years ; it really is. 

Betsey. You looked so funny I couldn't help it. Excuse 

7 



50 

me, Deacon. (Aside.) It won't do to get him mad. How 
I wish I had burnt that will. 

Deacon. (Aside.) Perhaps she will talk to me like that 
when she gets to be Mrs. Deacon Cuff. I '11 excuse it for 
now. (Addressing Betsey and feeling to see if wig is all 
right.) Certainty, certainly. As I was about to remark — 

[Rap at door. 

Deacon. I bet it is John after me. The old mare had the 
belly-ache this morning, before I came away, and I should n't 
wonder a bit if she had another attack. What trials a man 
of property does have. [Rap at door, louder than before. 

Betsey. Come in. [Enter Enwright at door. 

Enwright. Excuse me for intruding. There has been a 
fire on the hill. 

Betsey. Been a fire? 

Deacon. You don 't saj' so ! 

Enwright. Yes, a } r oung lad}- and my daughter just es- 
caped with their lives. Can we stop here until teams can be 
got to take us to the village ? 

Betsey. Why, yes, you can stop for a while. I am a 
lone, poor woman, and of course } t ou will give me a little 
something for the trouble. 

Enwright. (Aside.) The old miser (Addressing Bet- 
sey.) Certainly. 

Deacon. Have 3-ou got any teams 3-et? 

Enwright. No. 

Deacon. Well, 1 11 carry you down. I've got the best 
mare in Marlborough. I'm Deacon Cuff. Probably you 
have seen my name in the papers for I 'm president of the 
town reform club and deacon of the Orthodox church. I '11 
carry you cheap. 

Enwright. I do not know as I ever heard of you ; you 
msij consider 3 T ourself engaged, though. Get a team ready 
as soon as 3'ou can. (Addressing Betse}- .) I will return 
with the party at once. [Exit Enwright at door. 

Deacon. (Putting on hat.) As I was saying — 

Betsey. (Interrupting.) Well, well, never mind now; 
you have got to get your team ready. 

Deacon. (Going out at door, while Betsey arranges things 
about the room.) Yes, yes. (Gets partly out of the door 
and takes out bottle and drinks.) My system requires a lit- 
tle stimulant. (Puts bottle in pocket and turns around and 
cries back to Betsey) Good bye ! 

Betsey. Good day. (Aside.) The old fool. (Pause.) 
It 's just a year ago to-night since Viola went awa}\ I read 
in the Herald a week or two ago that she had run away with 



51 

a little girl where she had been teaching, and that no trace of 
her could be found. I always knew that no good would come 
of that Mary^ Fernald's brat. I'd just like to know where 
Chip went to. The will was missing about the time he went 
off, but he would not have taken it. He 's too big a fool for 
that. The deacon has got it fast enough. Strange how the 
appearance of that stranger set me to thinking. 

[Noise outside. Enter at door, Enwright, carrying Viola in 
his arms, Chip with Cora in his arms. Viola is in a dead faint. 
Betsey. (Surprised.) The Lord save us ! It's Viola and 
Chip. 

[Enwright lays Viola on settee. Chip sets Cora down. 
• Chip. This is Wenle}^ Farm. 
Viola. (Coming to.) Where am I? Is Cora safe? What 
has happened ? . 

Chip. Eveiy thing is correct ! 

Enwhight. You are at what Chip calls Wenley Farm. 
Cora is safe, thanks to your courage and Chip's bravery. The 
house where 3 T ou were held a prisoner with Cora caught fire 
by accident. I got there just in time to see Chip lowering 
3 T ou from a chamber window. You look surprised at this. 
Well, it is a long stor}\ Chip came to New York in search 
of you and found where you were only to hear that 3~ou had 
kidnapped Cora, as it was then thought. I met him, and 
through him you were found, for he stood up so strong in 
your favor I was led to believe you innocent, and for various 
reasons caused- to mistrust a man named Jameson — George 
Jameson. I gave Chip some money to get him some clothes, 
for he was sadly in need of them, and was about to enter into 
an extended conversation with him, when he left like a flash. 
It was found he had followed some one to Marlborough, and 
judging it to be Jameson, I started on after him. 

Chip. That 's so, ever\ T time, Miss Viola. I come to New 
York to hunt ye up and tell ye that Betsey Smith (Looks at 
Betsey) stole Mr. Wenley's last will and put one he made 
before in place of it. Here 's the will. (Takes will from 
pocket and gives it Viola who gets up and reads it.) The 
man Jameson stole it from me ; he said he was yer friend and 
took it to keep for ye. I found him asleep, out doors, drunk, 
and stole it back. 'Bout as soon as I got it, he woke up and 
started on ; I after him like a picked up dinner. Wall, he 
stopped at the place where he had 3~e and Cora, and about 
that time the fire broke out. I knew the house like a book — 
use to hunt bats in it, for nobody use to live there — and I 
soon got into ye room where ye was and got ye out (Nod- 
ding to Enwright.) He 's 'later! the rest 



52 

Betsey. (Screams.) Every thing is lost ! What shall I do? 

Chip. Go shoot 3'ourself ! That's the best thing for such 
an old tarnal as ye are. 

Cora. -You should not talk so. 

Viola. Cora is right, Chip. 

Chip. She is an old tarnal, anyway. Did n't she make 
me work like a nigger ? did n't she turn you out doors ? did'nt 
she steal the will ? Darn her ! 

Enwright. She has done wrong, Chip, but for all that 
you should not talk so. 

Chip. Well, I hate her, I do. 

Betsey. Oh, dear ; oh, dear ; what shall I do? I've been 
an awful woman. I '11 kill myself. 

[Starts to go out at door, but runs against Jameson, who 
reels in, appearances indicating that he has been through a 
fire. Jameson sinks on to settee. 

Jameson. (Gasping.) I am burning up. Curse it, how 
I burn ! ]\ly life is come to an end. What a life it has been ! 
I '11 not die until I do what I can to set nryself l'ight. (Rises 
up.) Viola, come nearer. (She does so and he sinks back.) 
I am dying, but I cannot die until I confess to you. I es- 
caped from the burning building and followed you here as 
fast as I could in my feeble condition. I told you once I was 
3 r our father and showed } t ou a certificate to prove it. 'Twas 
a lie ; I am not your father ; he was killed by me in a fight 
over seventeen }^ears ago. My true name is John Stanle}^. 
The officers were on nry track for relieving a bank of its cash, 
and the idea struck me of putting myself in his place, that is, 
making it appear so. I resembled him greatly, and changing 
clothes and disguising myself slightly, John Stanley was dead 
and George Jameson lived, as far as the world knew. The 
certificate was in the pocket of his coat. Not daring to trust 
to your mother being deceived, I kept away from her, and 
she died broken hearted, thinking she was deserted. So she 
was, by death. I 've been a deep villain. It was I that mur- 
dered Amos Wenley, God forgive me? (Rises up and laughs 
in a wild manner.) Curse it, how I burn ! Fire ! fire ! fire ! 
How it blazes ! [Falls back dead. 

Viola. He is dead.. What a life he has led ! May God 
have mercy on his soul ! 

Enwright. Amen ! 

Betsey. Would that I were dead too ! 

[Enter Sheriff at door, with Constable. 

Officer. We are in search of one George Jameson. He 
is charged with murder and robbery ; he was seen to enter 
here. 



53 

Enwright. (Pointing to settee.) There he is, but he is 
beyond the reach of human law ; gone to that high tribunal 
before which we must all appear. Take him away and see 
that he is buried. I will bear the expense. 

[Officers go out at door with body, Enwright, Viola and 
Cora stand in a group together, talking in low tones. 

Chip. (Aside.) Kind of a family pow-wow, I reckon. 
(Addressing Betsey.) Well, what do ye think? 

Betsey. (Crying.) I've been an awful bad womai*. 

Chip. No need of tellin' of it ; everybody knew it before. 

Betsey. I wish I was dead ! 

Chip. Die, then. Your funeral procession won't be very 
long. 

Viola. (Reproachfully.) Chip! (Addressing Betsey.) 
Betsey Smith, you have been a bold, bad woman, but I cannot 
find it in my heart to punish you. While you live you are wel- 
come to a home here ; I will never expose you. I am going 
back to New York to live (Chip whistles) and shall come 
once a } T ear to visit the old place and the graveyard on the 
hill. Try to atone for your past life in the } T ears to come. 

Betsey. The Lord bless you. I do n't deserve it. You 
are too good. 

Chip. Well, I'll be goll darned ! Goin' to be a governess 
and give the place up ! And to Betsey Smith, too. 

Enwright. You look surprised. Viola is going back to 
New York, not as governess, but as my wife. It's all set- 
tled. 

Chip. . I vum ! Ye do n't say so, do ye? 

Enwright. Yes. Chip, 3 7 ou have been a good and faith- 
ful fellow, and you shall go with us. The reward of five thou- 
sand dollars I offered for the recovery of Cora is yours, and 
shall be placed in the bank to }^our credit at once. 

[Enwright, Viola, R., Cora, C, Betsey, Chip, L. 

Chip. Well, I '11 be goll darned ! who 'd ha' thought all 
this would ha' happened just 'cause of ' ' The Stolen Will ? " 

FRONT CURTAIN. 



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